Mindweaver
by Nara Nobleheart
Summary: EVENTUALLY - CHAPTER 14 NOW UP Follow the adventures of a young enchantress as she learns the ways of magic and travels through Norrath... PLEASE read & review.
1. Small Beginnings

_This story is based on my character's true adventures in the world of Norrath. The other main characters she meets are all people I have come to know during my journeys, and I hope they'll forgive me for shamelessly documenting our adventures here. Each chapter is meant to be a complete short story on its own, so please excuse any repetition that may occur for the sake of keeping other readers informed. Please read and review, any comments will be appreciated – at least I'll know you're reading..._

Naramira's hand paused in the air as she stood before the door to Master Jusathorn's study. She took a deep, calming breath to focus her thoughts. The letter didn't say why he had summoned her, but Naramira knew that this was to be a day to remember. The sky had dawned purple that morning, a sign of momentous tidings to come. She summoned her courage and rapped lightly on the door.

"Enter."

Master Jusathorn was sitting at his desk, a quill and parchment by his side. He looked up at her, his black eyes as unreadable as ever. The only Aviak east of High Hold Keep, the birdman was still as unfathomable to her as the first day she had gaped open-mouthed at him. His black feathers glistened in the glow of a light-stone suspended from the ceiling.

"Welcome, young Initiate," he said simply.

Naramira's heart skipped a beat. Initiate! She unconsciously clutched her plain brown Novice robe as she tried to keep her excitement contained.

Master Jusathorn ruffled his feathers in a way Naramira had long suspected to be his manner of smiling. He indicated for her to take a chair opposite him and she gratefully accepted.

"The Elders have decided that you are ready for your first spell-circle, young one. From now on you must earn your keep and learn the ways of enchantment in practice. You are to go outside the city walls and, with all the skills we have taught you so far, help defend the city against the perils outside the guards' reach."

"I won't let you down, Master Jusathorn," she promised bright-eyed.

"No, you won't," the guildmaster answered. "Fail this task, young Initiate, and the Elders will consider you unworthy of the high arts of enchantment. You will be free to choose your own profession among the Coalition of Freeport Traders, or lead your life as you choose, but the Academy will be closed to you."

Naramira could almost see the doors slam in her face and imagined what her life would be like outside the safety of the Academy's walls. She gulped almost audibly and stared wide-eyed, and suddenly very scared, at the birdman.

He ruffled his feathers once again and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I have faith in you, Naramira," was all he said. It was all she needed to hear.

* * *

An eerie cackle resounded through the dead-quiet night. The two guards at the West Gate gripped their swords tighter and peered into the darkness, searching for any signs of trouble.

Naramira shivered in the cold breeze. She tucked her new spellbook into her satchel and nervously fingered the small dagger the Academy had given her. 'Small help this will be', she thought to herself as she strode purposefully to the gate.

One of the guards smiled sardonically at her, saluted, and said in a mocking voice: "Another youngling off to save the world." His friend grinned, but didn't comment.

Naramira ignored the men and tried to remember the correct incantations for the two spells the Academy's spellkeeper had kindly given her. She quickly cast Strengthen on herself, feeling the heavy satchel she was carrying lightening, and set off into the darkness.

Freeport was suffering from an infestation of giant rats, bats, snakes and fire beetles. Although the town itself was largely free from this problem, the Militia simply did not have the manpower to keep the barren desert outside the gates safe too. To make matters worse, undead skeletons walked at night and the local orc clan, the Deathfist, had recently been prowling the city walls, looking for a weakness in the defences.

Naramira's assignment was one given to all Initiates once they achieved the first spell-circle. Many of them never made it past this stage, dying in the wastelands just beyond the city's walls.

A rat suddenly squeaked at her feet and Naramira jumped in surprise, but a green light was already emanating from her hands. A green glow suffused the rat, draining its strength. The rat screeched and went for Naramira, but she was ready for it. In its weakened state and with her strength still magically enhanced, the rat was no match for the young enchantress. Her skills with the dagger were still poor, but a few well-aimed slashes finished the twitching rat off.

Naramira stood exultantly over the body of her first kill. Her face shone with pride and she told herself that surely this would prove to the Elders that she was worthy of their trust.

"It's just a rat, girl," the guard intruded upon her thoughts. She spun around to see them both smirking at her.

She blushed and her gaze dropped to her feet. The purple hem of her Initiate robe caught her attention and she was suddenly filled with a steely resolve. She looked up to meet the first guard's mocking gaze steadily. "It may only be a rat, sir, but soon my powers will grow and I won't have to cower behind the city's walls for protection," she replied quietly.

The silent guardsman seemed to catch the sarcasm in her remark and frowned at her, but the first guard laughed uproariously. "Aye, soon you can match your powers to that of a fire beetle! We'll see you running back to the gate as fast as you can then," he laughed. He winked at his companion and they returned to their posts, still laughing and joking at her expense.

Naramira sighed and turned back to the dead rat. With a grimace she severed its tail and stashed it in her satchel. She'd heard they sold well in the marketplace, sometimes worth even as much as a whole platinum piece. If she was to earn her keep as Master Jusathorn had said, she was going to need some money soon.

She spent the rest of the night hunting and killing rats and bats, always keeping just within sight of the city walls. Her satchel was soon full of tails, whiskers, rat's ears and bat wings. When dawn came, she made her way back to the city and headed straight for the marketplace, where the first vendors were already putting up their stalls. She sold all her loot for a total of two platinum pieces and five pieces of silver and walked back to the Academy feeling rich and satisfied with the night's work.

After she'd had some rest, Naramira visited the Academy's spellkeeper again. She had enough money to buy three more spells and asked the woman what she recommended.

"Here you go, lass," the spellkeeper said as she handed Naramira three scrolls. "Minor Shielding, Shallow Breath and Minor Illusion. Learn them well."

"What do they do?" the young enchantress asked eagerly.

"Ah, that my girl, is for you to find out," the woman smiled and winked at Naramira.

Naramira thanked her, went back to her room, copied the three spells into her spellbook and, after she had memorised them, packed her satchel and set out for another day of hunting.

When she reached the Academy's entrance, she saw a few other initiates and novices milling about the doors, looking perplexed. Naramira asked one of them what was wrong.

"It's the transporter," the novice replied. "It's broken and we can't get out."

Naramira pushed past everybody to look out through the door. The Academy was suspended over a man-made lake in the middle of Freeport. A platform with a transporter stone twenty feet away from the doors was the only way to access the tower.

"What are you going to do?" the novice wanted to know.

"I'm going to jump," Naramira replied.

"Jump! Can you swim?"

"No, but now's as good as any time to learn."

And with that, Naramira jumped off the step and fell into the lake. As soon as she hit the water, she realised it was a mistake. Her legs were entangled in her robe and the weight of her satchel was pulling her further and further down. A moment of blind panic seized her and then she realised: Shallow Breath. It must be a spell that could help her breathe underwater!

She quickly cast it on herself and suddenly felt like someone was throttling her. Her vision became blurry as she fought unsuccessfully to breathe underwater. Spots appeared before her eyes and she knew unconsciousness would claim her soon. She felt something brush against her arm and instinctively grabbed at it. A rope! She felt someone pulling her upwards.

She surfaced and gasped for breath, but still felt like she was choking. Then suddenly, the pressure on her throat was gone and she gulped air in with such relief that tears formed in her eyes. She looked up to see an unblinking Master Jusathorn standing over her.

"And so you learn the use of Shallow Breath, young Initiate. Also know that you were not choking in reality, but that your mind believed that you were. Use that knowledge more wisely in future," he said. Naramira got the distinct impression that he was amused!

Her throat felt raw, so she only nodded wordlessly.

* * *

Another dead rat dropped at her feet. 'This suffocation spell makes it almost too easy,' Naramira thought to herself. She wiped her dagger clean and quickly salvaged what she could from the corpse. By now she had made enough money to buy all her spells, with a few silver pieces to spare.

The sound of huge mandibles clicking together made her turn around. A fire beetle was heading her way. A week ago Naramira would have made sure to stay out of its way, but she's had some experience now and felt confident she could take the beetle on.

A momentary golden glow surrounded her as she renewed her magical shielding. Then her hands glowed green as she began casting Shallow Breath.

The fire beetle choked and rushed towards the young enchantress in a mad rage. Naramira started muttering the words that would weaken and drain the bug's strength, but it suddenly jumped at her and pushed her off her feet, interrupting her casting.

The beetle was on top of her, her dagger a few inches out of her reach. It was all Naramira could do to keep the beetle from slashing her throat with its fangs. She knew the suffocation spell would soon wear off. The gate was a long way off, the guards wouldn't hear her screams.

Frantically she beat at the fire beetle, hoping to cause at least a delay in its attack. Her arms and legs were scratched and bruised, but at least no serious damage had been inflicted yet, if only she could keep it away from her throat.

In the scuffle Naramira had slowly been able to edge closer to where her dagger lay in the sand. With one huge lurch she managed to grab it and stuck it deep in the fire beetle's belly. The beetle fell off her with a blood-curdling scream.

Naramira jumped up as fast as her injuries allowed and cast another suffocating spell that slowly choked the creature to death. She watched its death throes as she regained some of her own breath. Her body ached and she was too exhausted to cast even one more spell.

She stooped to loot the corpse when suddenly pain seared through her back. "For the Deathfist!" the orc bellowed as he wrenched his spear out of her back. He lunged forward for another attack, but Naramira's knees buckled under her and she sank to the ground, narrowly missing his thrust.

She was helpless. Her strength ebbed like blood from the wound in her back, her fingers were too numb to hold on to her dagger. Desperately she tried to cast a spell, but the words eluded her.

Naramira watched in horror as the orc lifted his spear for the killing blow. Suddenly feathers sprouted from his skull and he toppled forward, almost landing on top of the terrified enchantress. He was dead before he hit the ground, an arrow sticking out of his head.

"That was a close call," a cheerful voice said. Naramira looked up into the face of a young wood-elf. He was dressed in green garb that looked strangely out of place in the desert surrounds, and his wild brown hair scarcely concealed his pointed ears.

He crouched by her side and rubbed a foul-smelling ointment on the wound at her back, which immediately stopped the blood flow. Then he put a peculiarly-shaped leaf over the wound and wrapped a linen bandage around her waist.

"There, that should do for now."

"Thank you," Naramira said shyly. Freeport was a bustling trading city and although she had seen many elves before, this was the first time one had ever spoken to her.

"Can you stand up?" he asked and, when she nodded, helped her to her feet. "Come. I'll help you back to the gate. My name's Kiran, by the way."

"I'm Naramira," she replied and then winced as a stabbing pain shot through her back.

Kiran steadied her, then picked up her dagger and satchel and supported her back to the West Gate. To keep her mind from the pain, he talked about his home city of Kelethin in the continent of Faydwer. "It's a city built in the treetops where beautiful music is made, good food and wine enjoyed and life is good," he smiled.

"I would like to see Kelethin one day," Naramira wished. She had never been further than Freeport and the young wood-elf with his tales of home had instilled in her a deep longing to see more of the world.

"You will," Kiran promised. He winked at her.

By the time they reached the gate Naramira felt a lot stronger. The wound was still a throbbing pain, but it was not unbearable.

Kiran returned her belongings to her and said: "This is as far as I can go, unfortunately. I have a long way to go still, and I dare not delay any longer. I have heard the priests of Marr will care for the wounded. Will you be able to make your way to the Temple unaided?"

Naramira nodded. "Thank you, Kiran. For saving my life."

The wood-elf beamed a smile at her and kissed her on the cheek. "You are most welcome, milady. May Karana guide you to safe paths. Farewell."

Naramira waved as he headed off towards the Commonlands. Then she braced herself against the pain and slowly made her way to the Temple of Marr.

* * *

"Enter."

Naramira timidly opened the door to Master Jusathorn's study. What she had come to tell him was against all he had taught her. She dreaded to see his reaction.

The birdman looked up from the scroll he was reading and motioned her to sit. She accepted and nervously waited for him to finish reading. When he was done, he carefully re-rolled the scroll and blinked at her, as implacable as ever. "You wanted to talk to me, young Initiate?"

Naramira took a deep breath. "Master Jusathorn, I know you always said an enchanter should never be burdened by religion, but..." She hesitated. The Aviak merely looked at her, waiting to hear more. "But since the week I spent in the Temple of Marr, I have felt myself... called... to the service of the goddess Erollisi Marr. Following her would make my life worthwhile, I think," she faltered.

Master Jusathorn was silent for what seemed like ages. Then he abruptly ruffled his feathers and said: "Enchanters play with the minds of others, young Initiate. We twist their thoughts to suit us and bend their will to ours. How will you reconcile this power with the teachings of the Goddess of Love?"

Naramira didn't hesitate. "I will use my power for good, Master. I will fight to rid Norrath of evil, and not misuse my skills for my own ends."

"You have a noble heart, Naramira. Let us hope you can keep to these ideals." The guildmaster was silent for a few minutes and Naramira wondered if he had dismissed her. She was about to get up when he fixed a piercing gaze upon her and said: "The path you have chosen is not an easy one, young Initiate. You will need to master all the complexities of enchantment to survive, for there are those who will hate you for who and what you are and those who will kill you for who you worship. Do you have the strength of will to continue on this road?"

"I do, Master."

"Good. You have the potential to become a powerful Coercer one day, Naramira." He handed her the scroll he was reading earlier. "The Elders have deemed you worthy of the second spell-circle. Go forth now and prove them right," he dismissed her.

Naramira walked out of the guildmaster's study feeling happy and excited. She had her whole life ahead of her, and she was going to make it count.


	2. Of Skunks and Goblins

Naramira gazed out over the sparkling blue waters of the Ocean of Tears. The Maiden's Voyage was sailing swiftly towards the continent of Faydwer. Blue skies and a steady wind had made the journey a pleasant experience from the moment it had left the Freeport docks.  
  
To the young enchantress the two-day trip was a journey of epic proportions. She had never before left her hometown, but ever since she had met a young wood-elf ranger, she had been longing to see more of the world. So she had saved up some money and secured passage on the boat that would take her across the ocean to a land she had heard many strange and wonderful tales about.  
  
"Captain says it shouldn't be too long now. We should be seeing the Butcherblock Mountains on the horizon any time now," a voice said behind her.  
  
Naramira turned to look at the wood-elf. Her untamed blonde hair had leaves in it, although she'd been at sea for two days. She was dressed in sturdy brown leather and a wooden club hung at her belt. A faint smell of apples clung about her.  
  
"Can you show me the way to Kaladim please, Breya?" Naramira asked. "I'm sure I'll get lost if I try to find it on my own."  
  
"Of course," the wood-elf replied. "It's on my way, in any case."  
  
"Where are you headed?"  
  
"I'm meeting a company of adventurers at Castle Crushbone. They promised good loot," she replied with a twinkle in her eye. "Ah, there we go. Butcherblock Mountains. Welcome to Faydwer."  
  
As the green mountains drew nearer, Naramira became ever more excited, and yet, she was a little troubled. Faydwer was a strange country. The home of dwarves, elves and gnomes, the young human did not know what to expect. Would she be welcome here? What dangers lay waiting for her to walk into unawares? She straightened her shoulders and reminded herself firmly that she was an enchantress of the second spell-circle. Whatever awaited her, at least she was not completely defenceless.  
  
Still, it was with mixed feelings that she disembarked not long after. The boat docked at one of two piers closed off from the surrounding forest by a high wall and watched over by two dwarven guards. A few shopkeepers set up trade within the protected area. Although they cried out their wares at the top of their voices, Naramira felt an eerie silence spilling over the wall from the forest.  
  
"Keep close to me," Breya said as she and Naramira walked towards the gate. "The docks are safe and the road too, for the most part. But once you're inside the forest..." She loosened her club suggestively. Naramira gulped, her mind racing with imagined horrors waiting to jump at her and pull her off the road.  
  
"I'm going to cast a spell on you, don't be alarmed. It's called the Spirit of Wolf and enhances your running speed. Very good for travelling." A blue light sparkled from the elf's hands and Naramira looked down to see her feet momentarily enveloped in a blue glow.  
  
"Now run with me, and remember to stay on the path!" They set off as fast as the wind, over hills and between mountains, the road winding between a green blur of trees. Naramira laughed in exhilaration. She didn't even think of possible dangers lurking off the road. A few minutes later the wood-elf stopped.  
  
"That was wonderful!" Naramira exclaimed. She wasn't even out of breath. "Why have we stopped?"  
  
Breya grinned and pointed. Naramira's gaze followed her finger and she gaped in astonishment. An enormous dwarven warrior was carved into the mountainside. It loomed over the gates of the dwarven city, deterring all those who were not welcome.  
  
"Behold the Gatekeeper of Kaladim," Breya said, a slight note of awe in her voice. "Now I have to leave you here. I'm supposed to be at Crushbone in two days' time, and it's still a long way. It was nice to meet you, Naramira."  
  
"Good luck, and thank you." Naramira waved goodbye as the young wood-elf ran off into the distance. Then she slowly, but purposefully, walked towards the gates of Kaladim.  
  
******  
  
To her great relief, Naramira passed unchallenged through the gates and past the guards, who only nodded in greeting as she entered the dwarven city. A narrow sloping tunnel opened up into a grand entranceway where more guards were milling about. Some of them looked surprised to see her, but none of them were alarmed or outraged to find a human girl walking through their halls.  
  
The entranceway divided into two narrow tunnels. Naramira chose the left tunnel and followed it deeper into the bowels of the earth. So far she did not like Kaladim very much. She could almost feel the weight of the mountain bearing down on her. Her chest felt constricted and she had trouble breathing. The tunnel was dark and when the roof became so low she had to stoop down to continue, Naramira seriously considered turning back.  
  
Then suddenly the tunnel opened up into an enormous cavern. She had finally reached the town and it was bustling with activity. There were dwarves everywhere, going about their tasks industriously. Everyone she passed greeted her friendly and the air was abuzz with their conversation.  
  
The first thing she did was find a smithy where she bought a little lantern. The city was poorly lit, which didn't seem to bother anyone else. She assumed dwarven eyesight was better than human vision. Or maybe they were just used to the darkness.  
  
She spent the rest of the day exploring the city and getting hopelessly lost in the twisting mazes and tunnels that formed its streets. She visited the mines where dwarves were digging for precious stones and the ore their smiths would make mithril from. She saw the guards on parade at the king's palace and walked through the hushed corridors of the Temple of Brell.  
  
She paid for a room in an inn above a tavern and spent that night drifting in and out of sleep. Apparently drunken dwarves loved singing, and at the top of their voices too. She awoke the next morning bleary-eyed and a little irritable, but that wasn't going to stop her from exploring the surrounding countryside.  
  
"Leavin' our city so soon, are ye missy?" Naramira was startled to hear the guard ask as she walked through the gate.  
  
She shook her head and wondered if she was supposed to bend down to be at eye level with the dwarf. She wisely decided against it. "No sir, I'll be back this evening. Just thought I'd like to see a little bit more of the Butcherblock Mountains."  
  
"Ye be careful now, little lady. The mountains are a pretty sight to see, that be true, but keep to the road and stay near the guard outposts. There be all sorts of dangerous creatures in these here forests."  
  
"I'll be careful," Naramira promised. She set off along the road, trying not to smile at being called a 'little lady' by someone she towered head and shoulders over.  
  
She was careful. The young enchantress had an active imagination and didn't want to risk the dangers everyone kept warning her about. She spent the day wandering about the open countryside on the edge of the forest, always keeping within sight of the Gatekeeper.  
  
She saw all manner of strange creatures and was once or twice attacked by a foolish young bird-like creature the guards later told her was called a krag. It reminded her a little of Master Jusathorn, her guildmaster, so she tried not to harm it too much.  
  
Another creature, a big striped lizard Naramira thought may be a miniature dragon, also attacked her. It was unexpectedly vicious and at one stage even spat a viscous liquid into Naramira's eyes that temporarily blinded her. She kept her wits about her though and luckily had a magical shield up at the time. Although the lizard put up quite a fight, the young enchantress, armed with her trusty dagger and a stronger suffocation spell at her command, was more than a match for it. When the lizard lay dead at her feet, Naramira sliced open its bloated belly to find a four-inch egg inside. She realised she must have inadvertently stumbled upon its nest, and the mother was just trying to protect her young. She was devastated.  
  
"Ah, young missy, there's nothin' to worry about," the friendly guard said later that night when they were both sitting in the tavern. 'The basilisk be a fierce creature. It will attack anyone on sight, so ye need not be worried ye had aggravated it. Their eggs be rare and much prized by master bakers. Ye should try to sell it in the marketplace."  
  
"Thank you for the advice, Guard Haendar," she smiled, feeling somewhat better about the incident. "Is there anything else I should be wary of?"  
  
"The forest is the domain of the goblins. Nasty creatures they be," he replied, grimacing. "They do unspeakable things to their prisoners, and kill for the fun of it. Do not wander of the road, if ye have any sense." He ordered another round of ale and then said in a conspiratorial voice: "Of course, there be all sorts of nasties in the open countryside too. Ye've met a few of them today, but beware the skunks of this region."  
  
Naramira's eyes widened in fright. She'd seen a skunk that morning, but luckily had given it a wide berth. "Are they very dangerous?"  
  
"Well... not dangerous as such." He cleared his throat and looked slightly embarrassed. "When I was a young lad and first joined the Stormguard, the other guards told me it be an unspoken rule that Captain Ogrebane only accepted newcomers into the force if they brought him the tail of a skunk within a week. So I set out one sunny morn to go and catch me a skunk, and catch him I did. He sprayed a stench on me so foul that Captain Ogrebane took one sniff of me and sent me to guard the furthest outpost, right out on the edge of the Faydark, for two weeks. My unfortunate roommate used to joke that the smell of me frightened the goblins right over the ocean to Sister Isle, where some of 'em would to this day rather face the Cyclops than come within a whiff of me."  
  
Naramira laughed. As the evening wore on the tavern's patrons became more uproarious. Naramira fled to her room not long after the singing started and mercifully managed to have a restful sleep that night.  
  
******  
  
A few weeks passed as Naramira spent the days hunting small game near the city gates. She was becoming more proficient with her new spells. Soon her curiosity got the better of her and she began to venture further and further into the forest, away from the relative safety of the road.  
  
One day she stumbled upon a ring of standing stones. She was in awe. 'This place feels almost sacred,' she thought to herself. 'As if ancient peoples once came here to worship.' She walked around the circle, carefully touching the engravings on the stone and trying to figure out their meaning. 'A place of powerful magic.'  
  
Suddenly she was struck by a magical force that nearly knocked her off her feet. She spun around to see a goblin shaman walking towards her. Pointed teeth glittered from his cruel smile and a necklace made of bones jingled as he came ever closer. His pale green skin glowed in the light of the magic radiating from his hands.  
  
Naramira knew she was no match for her opponent. She turned and ran. 'Which way's the road?' She couldn't remember! She ran wildly through the trees, only to feel her feet sink into the ground as she was rooted to the spot a few minutes later. The hem of her purple robe was covered in mud as the goblin's magic turned the ground into a sticky mire.  
  
She turned to confront her attacker. A Suffocating Sphere hit the goblin and he started to choke, his eyes bulging in surprise. But a goblin shaman was not a fire beetle, nor a basilisk, and he quickly overcame her spell. He fired a disease-based attack at the young enchantress. She started shivering with fever as she felt her life-force slowly draining out of her.  
  
Another Suffocating Sphere hit the goblin and his attack ceased for a moment as he fell to the ground, clawing at his throat for air. Naramira pulled her feet free and ran on, hoping in vain to come upon the road and wishing she'd never set foot off it in the first place.  
  
Frost rifts struck her from behind as the goblin recovered and gave chase. She ran on in a fevered state, her whole body numb with cold. Her only thought was to find the road. She couldn't make her mind focus on more than that.  
  
She'd almost given up hope when she saw flickering torchlight in the distance. Sobbing, she stumbled forward as fast as her injuries allowed. Another icy chill slammed her from behind and she fell down, too tired to get up again. The goblin stood over her, leering, and she closed her eyes while waiting for the killing blow.  
  
"For the glory of Kaladim!" she heard a rough voice call, followed by a shrill gurgling shriek and a hand helping her to her feet. A dwarven guard had seen her plight and came to her rescue just in time. He wordlessly helped her back to the guardhouse, where she spent the night recovering from the attack. She thanked him sincerely the next morning before making her way back to Kaladim, careful to keep to the road.  
  
******  
  
"I warned ye not to go into the forest, young missy," Guard Haendar reprimanded her.  
  
"And I should have listened," Naramira agreed. "But I don't feel safe here anymore and it's time for me to move on." She hefted her satchel onto her back and wrapped her traveller's cloak about her.  
  
"Well, good luck be to ye. Headin' back home, are ye?"  
  
"No. I've always wanted to see Kelethin, which is where I'm going now. I'll keep to the road," she promised quickly as the dwarf's frown deepened. "I'll be careful. Farewell."  
  
"Farewell, little lady. And may Brell be with ye," he called after her.  
  
Naramira looked at the surrounding forest and a shiver ran through her. She cast Invisibility on herself and followed the road east.  
  
_________________________________________________ Author's Note: Second spell-circle – levels 4-7. 


	3. Tales of Dread and Fear

The ancient trees of the Faydark towered over her. Very little daylight penetrated the thick foliage. She walked through a perpetual twilight, her lantern a tiny beacon of light in the surrounding gloom.  
  
Naramira kept her Invisibility spell up. After the incident with the goblin shaman in the Butcherblock Mountains, she was taking no chances. Greater Faydark seemed safer to her, although the absence of the sun's rays made her uncomfortable. Born and raised in a coastal desert town, the sun beating relentlessly down on her had always been a given, something she sorely missed at the moment.  
  
An unexpected sound drew her attention. A faerie was flying towards her, completely unaware of the young enchantress' presence. At least, she thought it was a faerie. The little creature was as small as Naramira's hand, tiny crystalline wings beating with a musical hum.  
  
Naramira longed to touch the little creature, but she was afraid. She'd heard stories of faeries playing nasty tricks on unwary travellers. Naramira was no longer an 'unwary traveller'. She watched the faerie disappear in the mist, then continued on her way along the winding road.  
  
She had no sense of time. She could have been walking for hours, her feet were certainly tired enough for it. She wondered if she were to sleep under a tree that night.  
  
At first she thought she was imagining it, then that the faerie had indeed seen her and was playing with her mind. But no, she really was hearing music and it was drifting down from the trees. She looked up and saw something that left her speechless with wonder.  
  
Kelethin was a city built high up in the treetops. Suspension bridges swayed between the platforms and there were no railings to keep one from falling. She heard laughter and the sounds of people bartering in the marketplace. It sounded like a friendly town, so she let her Invisibility spell drop.  
  
She saw a movement in the mist and the figure of an elven guard materialised. "Who goes there?" he called to her.  
  
"My name is Naramira," she replied somewhat hesitantly. "I have journeyed from afar to see the wonders of this fair city."  
  
"Then be welcome to Kelethin, weary traveller. The Traveller's Rest is where you should be headed. You'll find a warm welcome and a comfy bed there. Here," he motioned to a wooden platform nearby. "You stand on this bit, then press this button and the lift will take you up to the first level."  
  
'Ingenious,' Naramira thought to herself. 'I wish the Academy had a device like this.'  
  
She thanked the guard and used the lift to take her upwards, straight into the heart of the elven city's lively marketplace. A group of bards were playing a frisky tune in one corner, which made Naramira smile with delight. Merchants were displaying their wares, elves were bustling about or chatting with friends. Here and there a dwarf or another human was making a purchase or coming out of a tavern. No one was taking any notice at all of the human girl in their midst.  
  
High up in the trees, Naramira could tell that it was in fact getting late and she was tired from her long journey, so she decided to leave exploring the city for the next day. She confronted a merchant and asked the woman where the Traveller's Rest was.  
  
"Platform 19", the elf replied. "Can I interest you in some leather leggings? Made from genuine Oasis crocodile leather imported all the way from Antonica."  
  
"Uh, no thanks. Where is platform 19?"  
  
"This is platform 15. How about a steel scimitar? Feel how light and razor- sharp it is. Guaranteed to slice through an orc like a hot knife through butter."  
  
"No thanks. Where did you say platform 19 was?" Naramira persisted.  
  
"Look, are you going to buy anything from me?" the merchant demanded.  
  
Naramira shook her head. "I don't think so. Unless you're selling a map to platform 19."  
  
"If you're not going to buy anything, can you move along please? You're blocking the customers."  
  
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me how to get to platform 19," Naramira insisted. She was getting slightly annoyed and wondered if the tales of elven haughtiness were indeed true.  
  
"Take the bridge to platform 18, then go over the bridge to platform 19," the merchant said while trying to push Naramira out of the way.  
  
"But there are three bridges. Which one goes to platform 18?"  
  
"The left one!" The women threw her hands in the air in exasperation.  
  
"Thank you," Naramira said, relieved.  
  
"Humans," she heard the merchant mutter under her breath, before putting on a bright smile and trying to lure another customer to her stall.  
  
The innkeeper certainly didn't have anything against humans and greeted her with the pleasure of seeing a lost child return home. He showed her to a comfortable room with a view of the valley and bid her join his other patrons for dinner in the common-room a bit later.  
  
She accepted his offer and found herself soon after sitting near a group of rowdy adventurers, loudly bragging about their latest escapade. She tried not to listen to their conversation, but couldn't help but look up from her plate at the sound of a familiar voice.  
  
"Can you imagine the look on DVinn's face when he notices it's gone?" the wood-elf laughed.  
  
"Breya?" Naramira said, loud enough to be heard at the next table.  
  
The young druid looked startled and then recognised the enchantress. "Naramira! Come sit with us, you have to hear about our adventure in Crushbone." She beckoned to Naramira and then got the rest of the company to move up to make space for her at the table.  
  
Naramira accepted and laughingly said: "I think the whole inn heard what happened in Crushbone. Who is this DVinn and what did you take from him?"  
  
Breya glowed with pride and brought forth a shiny brass shield from under the table. "DVinn is the dark-elf ambassador stationed at Crushbone and this shield is one of his most prized family treasures. It protects the bearer against magical attacks." She grinned from ear to ear. "I'm going to put it to good use when we go back there tomorrow."  
  
Naramira frowned. "What's a dark-elf doing in Faydwer?" She had never seen a dark-elf before, but she had heard many gruesome tales about them. They served the God of Hate, Innoruuk, and were the sworn enemies of all the good races, especially of elves. As a follower of Erollisi Marr, Naramira was honour-bound to protect the innocent from all evil beings. She wondered, if it came to the test, if she would be able to keep that vow.  
  
Another member of the group, a tall high-elf with an arrogant cast to his face, replied: "Crushbone is the home of the local orc clan. Their emperor hates all good elves, but even an untrained elf was a match for an orc. So he asked for help from Neriak and they sent DVinn to advise him. Since his arrival, the orcs have been more organised, better trained. They prowl the valley at night times, taking elves, gnomes or sometimes even a dwarf caught unawares as slaves."  
  
"But we get them back," another wood-elf replied. He unsheathed a steel sword strapped to his back and started polishing it. "Every now and then a raiding party goes to Crushbone to free the slaves and cause some havoc under the orcs. It's a dangerous venture, requiring stealth and a lot of backbone. In there, we are usually outnumbered one to twenty."  
  
"And tales told by some of the rescued prisoners are enough to make the hair on the back of your neck stand on end," a high-elf girl added. She was clad in rusty chain mail and a book of prayer lay on the table by her side. "DVinn is a dark-elf to the core. He relishes in torturing his victims. They say the screams sometimes endure throughout the night and the next morn, the slaves would be sent in to wash the blood off the walls, no other sign left of the prisoner."  
  
Naramira trembled slightly and it seemed the brightly-lit room had darkened with their tales of dread. Before she had come to Faydwer, she would have relished the chance to go on an adventure like this, but now she wasn't so sure. She'd lost some faith in her abilities. She was afraid she would be a liability on a dangerous mission such as this. And she had no wish to be scraped off the walls either.  
  
"Would you like to come with us tomorrow, Naramira?" Breya asked. She inclined her head towards the arrogant high-elf and said: "Lenaron has been summoned by his guildmaster and is returning to Felwithe in the morning. We will need another enchanter."  
  
"I... I..." she hesitated. She did not want to be thought a coward, but she was too afraid to accept the invitation. "I don't think I have the skills needed for a mission such as this," she replied.  
  
"Oh," disappointment was plainly etched on Breya's face. "Alright then. I suppose we could manage on our own." She quickly overcame the awkward silence by ordering another round of ale and one of the other members of the group started recounting a funny thing that had happened to him on the way to Kelethin. Soon the party was laughing boisterously again, all sombre thoughts forgotten for the moment.  
  
Naramira went up to her room not long after. Although no one had said anything, she could not help but feel that the looks they gave her were filled with reproach and even a little disgust. 'Or maybe that's how I feel about myself,' she thought as she gazed out over the dark valley from her window. Try as she might, she could not bring herself to go downstairs again to tell Breya that she would join them after all.  
  
The adventurers had already left by the time she went downstairs the next morning. She tried to put all thoughts of them out of her mind and set about exploring the city.  
  
The streets of Kelethin was just as busy that day as it had been the previous day. She wandered from platform to platform, browsing shopkeepers' wares and sampling some of the local food. There were groups of bards playing on various platforms, with street actors performing in front of crowds of people. The air was filled with music and laughter. Naramira's mood lifted and she spent the day thoroughly enjoying herself.  
  
She lingered two or three days longer in Kelethin, but the urge to travel further took hold of her soon after. She paid for her stay early one morning and the affable innkeeper kindly gave her directions to Felwithe, which he said was not far from the wood-elven city and was a sight she should not miss. She hitched her satchel with her few belongings on her back, took the lift down to the ground again and followed the road southwards.  
  
******  
  
Naramira stood before the gates of the magnificent high-elven city, once again amazed by the sight that confronted her. Felwithe was a fortress- castle built from shining white stone. Colourful pennons flapped in the breeze and guards outfitted in burnished plate armour protected the gates. A mountain loomed from behind the city walls.  
  
The guards saluted her as she walked past them into a broad brightly-lit tunnel carved from the mountainside. It was nothing like the tunnels of Kaladim. She passed through it to enter the city itself. Blue skies shone down on white stone buildings, well-tended gardens and a crystal-clear river running through the city and into a lake just within view of the gates. Somewhere in the distance, Naramira could hear the pure notes of a harp being played. She was enthralled by the beauty of the city.  
  
Felwithe was not a bustling trader's metropolitan, although the streets were filled with small craftsman's shops, smithies, jewellers and bakeries. The city was a centre for art, learning and the quiet contemplation of life, Naramira realised as she walked its broad, paved streets. High-elves, with their noble faces and proud bearing, were quietly conversing in groups of three or four. The whole city bespoke of serenity and inner peace.  
  
They were a martial race too, though. She visited the Defender's Hall and the Temple of Tunare, where she saw the paladins and clerics practising with sword and mace. They were all very adept, proving the truth of rumours she had heard that high-elves were some of Norrath's best fighters. After they had cleaned up and put their weapons away, Naramira followed them into the Hall of Worship where they sang about the beauty of nature, giving praise to Tunare, Mother of All.  
  
Naramira ambled along the streets, past the lake and through another mountain tunnel where she came upon a tower rising up into the clouds. She was curious, it reminded her of home. She passed through a set of stout oaken doors into a room that had three transporter stones in it. Three different banners hung from the ceiling behind each of the transporters. One she recognised: the all-seeing eye of the enchanter. She placed her hands on the cool stone and was instantly transported into a vast hall where green-robed elves were talking quietly or studying by the light of random light-stones.  
  
"Welcome to the Hall of Enchantment, young Initiate," a tall elven woman came up to her, smiling kindly. "Are you in need of aid? Is there anything I can do for you?"  
  
Naramira thanked the woman, but assured her that she did not need anything. The elf smiled and left her free to wander around the hall. Naramira admired the green robes the elves wore. She examined her own purple robe. It was becoming slightly the worse for wear, the hem tattered at places and she knew the bloodstain at the back where an orc had once stabbed her would never come out. She asked one of the Initiates where she could purchase such a robe and was directed to the Hall's seamstress. Naramira sold her old purple robe, feeling slightly sentimental and almost reconsidered, but in the end she did part with it and acquired a soft-spun green robe she wore proudly for many months to come.  
  
As she roamed the Hall's corridors, a longing to return home suddenly overcame her. She'd been travelling through Faydwer for just over a month now, and although she'd seen many strange and wonderful sights, she missed the warm sunshine and salty smell of the sea. She wanted to sleep in her own bed in her little room high up in the Academy. And most of all, she wanted to speak to Master Jusathorn, wanted him to help her overcome the fear she had discovered in herself.  
  
She was on her way to the transporter stone, deep in thought, when she almost walked into someone. "Watch where you're going," the elf said irritably.  
  
"Sorry," Naramira apologised, and then recognised Breya's arrogant high-elf companion she had met in Kelethin. "Oh, hello, Lenaron. Nice to see a familiar face."  
  
He looked displeased to see her. "Yes, I'm sure it is."  
  
Naramira cleared her throat, uncertainly. "Well, it's a long journey back home. I'd better go," she said uncomfortably.  
  
Lenaron frowned. "You're travelling by foot? Surely it makes more sense to open a Gate? Where is your soul bound?"  
  
"My soul?" Naramira was confused.  
  
"You have never visited a soulbinder? A Gate should take you right back to your birthplace then."  
  
"I don't understand," Naramira confessed.  
  
"I'm sure you don't," he replied haughtily. "Surely you have learnt the Gate spell by now. Cast it, and a magical portal will open that will take you to Freeport, or wherever it is you came from."  
  
Naramira took her spellbook out of her satchel and quickly memorised the spell she had not thought to test so far. She said the incantation and a slash of light opened a hole in the air through which a blast of hot air wafted, the West Gate plainly in sight.  
  
"Thank you, Lenaron," Naramira said gratefully. She was glad she did not have to travel through the Butcherblock Mountains again on her way home. "Give my regards to Breya and the others."  
  
"Breya is dead."  
  
Naramira stopped with her foot in mid-air through the portal. "What?" she asked, sure she must have heard wrong, or misunderstood him.  
  
"You heard me. She's dead. They're all dead." The high-elf showed no emotion other than a deep-seated rage. "They were overwhelmed. Only my sister escaped to tell the tale, and she died of her wounds a day later."  
  
Naramira's lower lip trembled. Dead. Maybe if she'd been there, she could have prevented it. Breya had been a friend. Dead.  
  
"I'm truly sorry, Lenaron," she managed to say. Tears were flowing freely down her face.  
  
"So am I," was all he replied.  
  
******  
  
Master Jusathorn's unblinking gaze was as unnerving as ever. Naramira had recounted all that had happened to her. She hoped her guildmaster could reassure her and help her through this crisis. She fidgeted slightly in her chair, uncomfortable under his scrutiny.  
  
The Aviak ruffled his feathers. "There is nothing I can do for you, young Initiate."  
  
All Naramira's hopes sunk down into her boots. What was she to do? If Master Jusathorn could not help her, who could?  
  
The guildmaster was not finished speaking though. "Each of us comes before this decision sooner or later. Do we choose a safe life, following a respectable profession or becoming a tradesman, or do we confront our fears and follow the path that leads to a higher destiny?" He paused to let his words sink in. "If you choose the safe life you may be content, or discontent as your heart guides you, and live to see a hundred years pass by. Or you may die two years from now, choking on a fishbone during dinner." He gave her time to consider this. "On the second path the risks are greater, but then the rewards may be greater as well. You could die a month from now, but you could die gloriously, your name and your deeds forever remembered in song. So you see, Naramira, your future is what you make of it. All you need to do is decide what you want from life."  
  
Naramira sat wordlessly staring out the window, considering the guildmaster's words. She saw her life pass before her eyes as if she had already lived it. She had a little jeweller's shop of her own in North Freeport, not far from the marketplace. Merchants travelled from as far as Qeynos to purchase her exquisite ornaments. A few years later and she was happily married to a baker, a gentle man who liked to treat the street children of East Freeport with bags of sweet-pies and cookies. She had children of her own. She was happy. She was old and her hair had turned silver. She was cleaning the house when she came upon an old dusty book. She opened it and squinted to read the tiny characters written in a neat, precise hand. There were only twenty-one spells copied into the discarded book.  
  
Naramira's thoughts snapped back to the present. How long had she been daydreaming? How much of Master Jusathorn's time had she taken up? She blushed but met his unwavering gaze steadily.  
  
"You have made your decision, young Initiate," he observed.  
  
"I have, Master."  
  
"Then may it lead you where you want to be, Naramira."  
  
She walked out of the guildmaster's study, no longer doubting her future. She had made her decision and she would keep to it. She set out, trembling, to confront her fears. 


	4. A New Beginning

The woods of the East Commonlands were not as ancient as the Faydark, nor as foreboding as those of the Butcherblock Mountains, but Naramira was nevertheless filled with trepidation. She had come here to prove to herself that she had what it took to be an enchantress. As the rays of the rising sun shone off her shoulder-length dark brown hair, she stood quietly gathering her courage.  
  
A spiderling scurried across the path. It was as big as a fire beetle, tall enough to reach Naramira's knees. She'd heard that spiders in the Commonlands could grow to even twice the size of that.  
  
'Now or never,' she thought to herself. A momentary golden glow surrounded her as she put a magical shielding up. Another brief glimmer and her image would have seemed hazy to anyone who happened to look at her. Then she fired a Suffocating Sphere at the spiderling. The creature stopped short for two seconds before screeching and rushing off as fast as its injuries allowed.  
  
Naramira was completely taken aback. She had expected the spiderling to attack her. She ran after it, quickly caught up to the dying arachnid and despatched it with one accurate stab.  
  
'That was easy,' she thought, relieved, her confidence slowly returning. She stooped and looted a strand of silk from the corpse. 'I wonder how much this sells for?' The trip to Faydwer had taken up most of her savings, which had not been much to start with. Three platinum, two golden pieces and a few coppers were all she had to her name. Not much, not even enough to pay for more than two nights at the inn she was staying at.  
  
Another spiderling scurried across the path. Naramira reacted instantly and moments after yet another dead arachnid lay at her feet. Soon she had a satchel full of silk strands and decided to take a break from her hunting. She had chased after spiderlings right to the edge of the woods and could see sand dunes not far away. Her curiosity once more got the better of her and she decided to see what was out there.  
  
She walked along the dunes until she came up against a mountain ridge, which she followed in a westerly direction. She could see a cave in the mountainside not far off and, strangely, could hear the sounds of many people talking. As she neared the entrance, she realised that there were not only hundreds of people gathered together, but that they had set up a marketplace in this unusual setting and were bartering with each other.  
  
Naramira was amazed. A variety of the races of Norrath were gathered together, displaying all sorts of interesting and strange wares. Battle- scarred warriors had some of their old weapons for sale, elven brewers shouted out the wonders of their magical infusions and a pale, pointy-eared gnome was describing the remarkable colours and shapes of his fireworks. A burly man so tall Naramira had to crane her neck upwards to look at the intricate blue-tattoos swirling across his face was selling herbs and animal pelts. Tailors, fletchers, smiths and bakers, the cave was filled with goods from all over the known world. There was even a troll selling pickled body parts, which looked rather revolting to the young enchantress. With lightning-fast reflexes the troll caught one of the flies buzzing around its head and stuck it in its mouth with obvious relish. Naramira turned away, disgusted, and stared straight into the piercing violet eyes of a dark-elf. A shiver ran down her spine. It seemed as if the black-robed elf could see right down into the depths of her soul, and hated everything she found there. The words that would protectively encase her in a magical shielding ran through Naramira's mind and she readied herself for the attack, but the dark-elf merely scowled and confronted a timid-looking half- elf selling stacks of bones.  
  
Relief flooded through Naramira. She had never encountered someone bearing so much hatred towards her. It was an odd feeling. She wondered if the dark- elf would have dismissed her so easily had she come face to face with her alone in the woods. "Hello there, milady. How are you doing today?" a polite voice enquired, startling her out of her reverie. The speaker was wearing a bright blue overcoat with green leather trousers and no shoes, his hairy feet looking a bit oversized on the small body. He was about waist-high to the human girl.  
  
Naramira smiled. She'd heard about halflings, but had never seen one before. "Very well, thank you, sir. And yourself?"  
  
"Oh, not too bad. Not making much of a profit today, but that's not always so important, is it?" he winked at her.  
  
"What do you sell?" she asked politely.  
  
He grinned and opened a sturdy-looking chest by his side. "Mostly leather armour, a few backpacks, that kind of thing." He rummaged through his wares and then took out a creamy silk blouse and held it up to her. It was beautiful, soft and smooth to the touch. Naramira looked at it admiringly. It looked to be just the right size to fit her.  
  
"Do you like it?" the halfling asked.  
  
"Very much," Naramira replied. "But I'm afraid I can't afford it."  
  
"I'll trade you for it. I'm sure you must have something I'd be interested in," he looked enquiringly at her bulging satchel.  
  
"Not really," Naramira said. "Just some silk strands I looted off a few spiderlings."  
  
The halfling laughed. "They're worth quite a bit, milady. How many do you have?"  
  
"I don't really know." She opened her satchel and took the silk out. She counted forty-five strands. "Would this be of any use to you?"  
  
"Yes, and the other tailors in this tunnel would pay well for them. As I said, I'm not making much of a profit, so I can't give you as much as someone else would, but I'll give you twenty platinum pieces for the lot, and this blouse as well."  
  
Naramira stared at the halfling, astonished. Twenty platinum pieces! And the blouse as well! "You are too kind, master Halfling!" she exclaimed.  
  
"Please, call me Drutt," he grinned. "I'll be honest with you, milady. A stack of spiderling silk, that's twenty strands, is worth about ten platinum pieces. And spider silk can fetch a price as high as twenty platinum for a stack. I would not take it amiss if you'd rather try and sell them to someone else."  
  
"Oh no," Naramira said. "I'm quite happy with twenty platinum pieces."  
  
Drutt laughed. "Then we have a deal. I will buy all the silk strands you can bring me, and any animal pelts you might have," he added.  
  
Naramira thanked the little halfling warmly. The sun was slowly setting over the woods and she decided to make her way back to the inn. Her purse jingled as she hastened back. She couldn't believe her good fortune and lay awake long into the night, wondering what the next day would bring.  
  
******  
  
Naramira was beset by two spiderlings at once. 'I can handle it,' she reassured herself. She focussed all her attention on one of them, ignoring the other one's attack. She fired her suffocation spell at the first spiderling and, knowing that it would be enough to finish the creature off, turned to the second one. She slashed at it, evading it's fangs with practiced care. A stinging bite to the back of her leg made her turn around in surprise. Another spiderling had joined the fray. A green glow suffused it as she drained its strength, then turned back to the second spiderling. She heard the clicking sound of huge mandibles and saw an enormous spider rushing towards her. It was shoulder height and Naramira knew a moment of panic. 'Three at once.'  
  
The spider jumped at her just as she despatched the second spiderling, the third one still biting her ankles painfully. She sidestepped and uttered a single magical word. Brilliant colours suddenly fluxed around her, stunning the spider into momentary motionlessness. Two well-aimed slashes and the third spiderling lay dead at her feet. She turned to confront the spider, her heart hammering in her chest.  
  
The colours faded and the spider shook its head, as if wondering what had happened. Then it saw the young enchantress and went for her throat. Naramira ducked and evaded its fangs, casting the draining spell on it. Another colour flux and a suffocation spell in short succession and she knew the spider would not prove too much of a problem. She slashed at it with her trusty dagger and it fell to the ground, choking. She stooped down, ready to loot it, and with its dying breath, the spider lunged at her and sank its fangs deep into her arm.  
  
Naramira cried out in pain. She wrenched her arm out of its reach and gaped at the two swollen pierce marks on it. She could feel the poison already flowing through her veins. Her vision became blurry and she stumbled back in the direction of the inn.  
  
Somehow she managed the journey through the woods, back to the inn and up the stairs to her room. She fell down on her bed, watching the blurry corners of her vision fade into black, until darkness claimed her.  
  
******  
  
"Should we call a healer, ma'am?" a woman's voice asked, sounding worried.  
  
"No, to be sure, this girl looks in a right state, but she should live through it," an older woman replied. "These adventurous types, they might bring in the money, but they sure are a nuisance to look after."  
  
Naramira opened her eyes groggily. Her head was pounding and she felt too weak to move, but the poison had run its course. She blinked a few times until her vision cleared and she looked up into the disapproving gaze of the innkeeper's wife.  
  
"There now, milady. Feeling any better? You were as pale as a ghost when you returned last night," the woman said, fussing about Naramira and helping her to sit upright. "I've gone to the liberty of bringing you up some breakfast, milady. You won't be wanting to eat in the common-room this morning, I'm sure." She gestured to the serving-girl who put a bowl of steaming porridge onto the bedside table. Then she opened the window to let the fresh morning breeze waft in.  
  
Naramira smiled gratefully. She didn't remember much of the previous night, but she was sure she hadn't undressed and gotten into bed. She looked at her robe, neatly folded and laying on top of the chest of drawers. Her arm was also carefully bandaged, the sharp smell of herbs telling her that someone must have gone to some trouble to make sure she was alright.  
  
"Thank you, mistress Elora. I hope I haven't inconvenienced you too much."  
  
"No trouble at all, milady," the woman replied. "No trouble at all." She saw Naramira hesitantly touching the bandaging on her arm. "That wound should heal clean, with no mark to show for it. My gran's ointment is good for any kind of injury, to be sure. But sometimes I think a scar reminds one to be more careful in future." She gave Naramira a pointed look, which made the young enchantress blush guiltily. "Is there anything else I might be able to do for you, milady?"  
  
"I'll be fine, thank you," Naramira assured her. The woman fussed over her another few minutes. Then, satisfied that she was comfortable and did not need anything else, she gave a curt nod to the serving-girl and left the young enchantress by herself.  
  
******  
  
Even though she still felt weak, Naramira did not waste too much time at the inn. She had collected quite a few strands of spiderling silk the previous day and she was eager to see what price they would fetch. She put on her new silk blouse, admiring the softness of it against her skin. She stowed the rough cotton blouse the Academy had given her away in the chest of drawers, hoping never to have to wear it again. Her loose-fitting cotton pants suddenly seemed very uncomfortable and coarse. Then, she put her green elven robe on over it all, grabbed her spellbook and her satchel and set out for the cave again.  
  
She was walking over the sand dunes when she saw something running towards her. Naramira had learned the hard way to be wary of anything unusual and quickly cast her magical shield about her. As it came closer, she saw that it was a puma, akin to a lion, but not quite as big. She did not wish to confront it, so she moved out of its way, giving it a wide berth.  
  
The puma stopped a few feet away from her and sniffed the air. It had not seen her, but it knew she was there. It turned around, as if searching for her. Then it spotted her. It regarded her for a few seconds, then crouched down low to the ground and started stalking her.  
  
Naramira's heart skipped a beat. Her first instinct was to turn and run, but she knew she could never outrun a puma. She had no choice but to stand her ground. She cast a haze about herself, which confused the animal for a few seconds. To it, her image was wavering, as if she was not really there, but it could still smell her, and continued towards her.  
  
Naramira knew she had to strike the first blow if she was to have any chance. She attacked with her suffocation spell, and as the animal rushed towards her, infuriated, she also cast Enfeeblement, draining the cat's strength. When it was almost on top of her, brilliant colours fluxed around the young enchantress, stunning it into immobility. Naramira took the chance to make a run for it.  
  
She ran for the cave, she could see the entrance not far off. A growl behind her warned her just in time and she ducked to evade the animal, who leaped straight over her head, spun around and confronted her. It slashed savagely at her, sharp claws gleaming as if polished. Pain seared through her right arm and she looked down to see three angry red welts stand out on it. Crimson blood started seeping out of the wound.  
  
She felt dizzy, her head spinning at the sight of her own blood, but she was not going to give up that easily. Rainbow colours suddenly surrounded her, once more stunning the puma and giving her a chance to recover. She hit it with another Suffocating Sphere and again started running towards the cave.  
  
A vicious swipe of the cat's claws lacerated her back. She fell to the sand screaming in pain. More bright colours around her. Clutching her dagger in her left hand, Naramira turned and thrust it deep into the unmoving animal's chest. Blood squirted all over her and the puma fell heavily on top of her, pinning her to the ground, the pain in her back almost enough to make her faint.  
  
Slowly, she edged out from underneath the puma's corpse. She picked up her satchel where it had fallen on the sand and limped towards the cave. At the sight of her, staggering and covered in blood, a handful of people rushed towards her to offer aid. Someone muttered a few soft words and the almost unbearable pain faded away. She watched in amazement as the wounds on her arm closed magically before her eyes, while the itching sensation in her back told her that the same healing powers were restoring her to full health.  
  
The wonder in her eyes as she looked at her healer was enough to make the man smile. She thanked him profusely and he simply replied that it was his calling to help others, before disappearing into the crowd of onlookers, who soon dispersed once they were sure she was alright.  
  
"Why, you are a sight to behold, milady! What happened?" Drutt's familiar voice said behind her.  
  
She took the handkerchief he offered her and wiped the blood from her face as she told him what had happened. "I'm afraid my new silk blouse must be completely ruined," she finished sadly, while trying to look over her shoulder at the slashes in her robe.  
  
The halfling smiled. "It pays to learn how to sew, milady. I have a feeling you're going to need it." He grinned impishly at her. "Well, as long as you're alright, let's get down to business. What have you brought me today?"  
  
He gave her thirty platinum pieces for the strands of spiderling silk she had collected and then, with a twinkle in his eye, took a pair of silk trousers out and handed them to her. "There, these should go well with the blouse."  
  
"You are too generous, Drutt," she said, smiling broadly. "I don't know how to thank you."  
  
"No thanks needed, milady. It's nice to be able to give something to someone who would truly appreciate it," he replied.  
  
"Please, call me Naramira. And thank you so much," she said sincerely.  
  
"You are most welcome, Naramira."  
  
Her purse jingling, she set off across the dunes, back towards the woods. She hadn't gone far from the cave when a sound such as a great rush of wind made her spin around. A malevolent being, a vortex of swirling air, transfixed her with a piercing gaze. It lunged towards her and clamped a steely grip around her throat, fingers as cold as ice.  
  
Naramira frantically tried to pry the insubstantial fingers from around her neck. Panicking, she reached for her dagger and stuck it into what seemed like the creature's body, but it encountered nothing but air. Fighting for breath, it was impossible to cast any spells. She was doomed.  
  
'No! Not yet, I can't die now. I haven't done anything yet!' she silently screamed in her mind. Infuriated, and disappointed, she thrashed about, trying to break free.  
  
But no matter how much she struggled, it was in vain. The creature's vice- like grip tightened even more and Naramira's dying thought was of how she had let herself down. Her lifeless body crumpled to the ground. 


	5. Facing Fear

The soul knows no fear, no pain, no joy. It knew freedom, however. It was free now. It sped across the dunes, through the woods, over the wastelands and stopped in front of the West Gate. This place had a familiar feel to it. It felt like home. The soul was free, however, and no longer bound to familiar places. Slowly it drifted upwards, to the heavens. The soul did not know what awaited it there, but this new place was home. It was going home. Upwards and upwards...  
  
A sudden wrench pulled it down. No! The soul was no longer tied to the body! It was free! Another jarring wrench. The soul strained against the pull, but the caller was persistent. The soul had to submit. Home would have to wait a while longer.  
  
******  
  
Naramira sat upright with a jolt, a soundless scream upon her lips. Air, she needed air! She filled her lungs, thinking to herself that the dry, dust-choked air of the Commonlands had never seemed so pure before.  
  
'I'm alive,' she realised then, bewildered. Her throat was raw and bruised, her whole body ached. It felt like a herd of centaurs had trampled all over her. Then she remembered. A being of swirling air, untouchable, ethereal, and yet malevolently real. Ice-cold fingers around her throat!  
  
Suddenly she was aware of her surroundings. She was sitting in the dust, not far from the cave in the mountainside of the East Commonlands. Someone was standing protectively over her.  
  
He was dressed in leather and carried a scimitar around which mystical leaves danced in the air. He smelled like the woods, a scent combined of the aroma of moss-covered trees, fresh dewdrops and clean air. A wild smell. Although he looked young to her, Naramira knew elves were never as young as they seemed. She suspected this elf had seen many ages pass by. Great power radiated from the figure.  
  
He smiled kindly at her. "You'll be alright now. No, keep still, don't move," he cautioned as she tried to stand up. "It will take a few minutes for you to recover."  
  
"What... what happened?" she asked shyly, completely in awe of the powerful elf.  
  
"An air elemental," he replied grimly. "I was too far away to help, but at least it was not too late. You are very lucky."  
  
Naramira frowned. She did not understand. "But I died. I know I did. And yet... I'm alive now." She was painfully sure of that fact. She had to be alive to be this sore. She looked at the elf, confused.  
  
"Yes," he smiled. "I happened to be doing business with a Templar of immense power when I saw the elemental attack you. It was he who summoned your soul back and resurrected you."  
  
"Resurrected?" Naramira asked, wide-eyed.  
  
"When you die, your soul returns to the place it was last bound," the elf explained. "But it only lingers there for a few minutes before it departs. If you are very lucky, someone will come along in those few minutes, find your body and resurrect you. Not just anyone, though. Only a cleric or a paladin with great faith in his god has the skill to summon the soul back to the body. So, young lady, you are extremely lucky that you died when and where you did."  
  
"As lucky as anyone who dies can be, I guess," Naramira replied, rubbing her throat gingerly.  
  
The elf grinned. He helped her to her feet and said: "Elementals are magical beings summoned from another plane of existence. They cannot be harmed by ordinary weapons. You need a weapon with magical properties to kill them." He pressed a small velvet bag of coins in her hand and laughed out loud to see the astonished look on her face.  
  
"Why are doing all this?" Naramira asked incredulously.  
  
"Because I was once young, and I remember well what it was like to make your way through the dangers of this world, unskilled and unarmed." He smiled kindly. "I think you deserve more than to die here today."  
  
Naramira didn't know what to say. She curtsied deeply before the elf, eyes shining with gratitude. He took her hand and helped her up wordlessly. Then he bid her farewell and walked back towards the cave. Naramira stared after him long after he was lost among the crowd of people gathered there. He had shown her great kindness and generosity, and she didn't even know his name.  
  
******  
  
Naramira made her way through the dusty streets of Freeport towards the Academy. Her thoughts and emotions were in a turmoil. She had died. Did she have the right to be alive now? Why had her life been given back to her, and Breya was still dead? The wood-elf had been courageous and kind, she had deserved life more than Naramira did.  
  
As always, when a difficult problem weighed on her mind, the young enchantress made her way to Master Jusathorn's study. But this time, the birdman did not answer her timid knock at his door. She asked a passing novice where she might find the guildmaster.  
  
"Master Jusathorn is out of town at the moment," the novice replied. "He did not say when he'd be back."  
  
Naramira would have to face this dilemma alone.  
  
She briefly visited her room, high up in the tower, where she put on her old novice robe and then took her green elven robe and the silk shirt Drutt had given her to the Academy's seamstress. The woman assured her that the clothes could be repaired and Naramira left it in her capable hands.  
  
Her thoughts were morbid as she sat alone in her room. She decided to get a breath of fresh air and soon found herself drifting towards the marketplace in the north of town. Somehow, all the colours were brighter, the people friendlier and the smells wafting from the inns better than she had remembered. Her mood lifted and she began giving everyone she passed a bright smile. She was glad to be alive!  
  
"Hello Lindie," she greeted one of the merchants. "How are you today?"  
  
The girl looked up from a deep wooden chest at the back of her stall. Her face was tanned, proof that she spent many hours of the day under the relentless desert sun. No hint betrayed that most of her life had been spent indoors, studying the magical arts with Naramira. They had been good friends, although she had never shown an aptitude for her studies. And when Naramira had been awarded the first spell-circle, Lindie Rains had opted to join the Coalition of Freeport Traders.  
  
"Not too bad," Lindie smiled. "What can I do for you today?"  
  
"I need a magical weapon," Naramira replied. "Do you have anything like that?"  
  
"I have many weapons, but only a few that are magical. Let me have a look." She rummaged through the chest, her head almost concealed from view. "Here's something. A velium scimitar." She stood up and held the weapon out to Naramira.  
  
The young enchantress laughed. "Somehow, I just can't see myself wielding a big heavy sword, Lindie," she smiled.  
  
"Well, it's not all that heavy, really," the merchant said but stopped short when she noticed her friend's raised eyebrow. "Alright, it is," she confessed. "Let's see what else I have..." She delved into the chest again. "Hmm, I guess you won't be interested in a jade mace either... Aha! I've got it." She pulled a long steel dirk out of the chest and held it up for Naramira to inspect.  
  
The sun glinted off the razor-sharp blade. Naramira could see strange symbols carved into the hilt, a language unknown to her. It was polished to a rich sheen, the previous owner must have treasured it greatly.  
  
"It's a dragoon dirk," Lindie said. "A magic blade, and as long as you're wielding it, it improves your dexterity and increases your protection against magic."  
  
"It's perfect!" Naramira exclaimed. "How much do you want for it?"  
  
"It's not cheap, Naramira. I acquired it from an adventurer recently returned from the Desert of Ro. The least I can let you have it for is ninety platinum."  
  
Naramira had made more money than she had ever seen selling strands of spiderling silk, but she could not afford the dirk, as much as she wanted it. She fingered the dagger strapped to her waist. 'This will just have to do.'  
  
"Would you like me to keep it for you?" Lindie asked, seeing her friend's crestfallen expression.  
  
"Yes, please," Naramira replied. It meant she had to hunt more spiders, and risk going to the cave in the Commonlands again, but if that's what she had to do, she would do it. She just had to be more careful this time. That made her think of the elf and the purse he had given her. She hadn't opened it yet, but she had brought it with her when she came to the marketplace.  
  
She took her leave from her friend and made her way to the bank. In the past she had not really had the occasion to visit the bank very often, but Banker Silverfield nevertheless recognised her immediately. Naramira knew he prided himself on having an excellent memory of all his clients.  
  
"Good afternoon, Naramira. Back in novice robes, are you?" he asked, indicating her plane brown robe.  
  
"Afternoon, master Silverfield. It is only temporary. I had... an unfortunate incident, and my initiate robe is in need of repair."  
  
"Nothing too serious, I hope," he replied.  
  
A brief frown crossed her face, but was immediately replaced by a hesitant smile. She handed him the velvet purse, which he opened and emptied its contents on the counter top. Naramira looked in amazement at the pile of platinum pieces. She waited in hushed anticipation as the banker counted the coins.  
  
"Two hundred platinum," he finished. "Will that be all?"  
  
'Goddess of Love, bless that elf for his kindness,' Naramira prayed fervently under her breath, hardly able to believe her ears. She could scarcely conceal her joy and beamed a bright smile at the banker. He returned the smile, but didn't say anything. "Can I have ninety platinum, please? And would you keep the rest safe for me?" she asked.  
  
"Of course," he promised and counted out the amount she had asked for. He put the rest in a wooden box that had her name carved onto it, which he locked away in a vault at the back of the bank.  
  
Naramira immediately returned to Lindie's stall and handed the surprised girl the ninety platinum pieces.  
  
"Where did you get this?" she asked.  
  
"It's a long story." Although the two girls had been close friends before, Naramira did not wish to share the tale of her death with anyone just yet. It had been a traumatic experience, one she was not fully ready to deal with at the moment. She needed time to think things through first.  
  
Lindie frowned slightly as she sensed Naramira's withdrawal, but didn't say anything. She accepted the money and handed the dirk over to the young enchantress. "Be careful, it's very sharp," she cautioned.  
  
Naramira took the weapon warily. It was perfectly balanced and fitted right into her hand, as if it were made just for her. She drew her trusty dagger and replaced it with the dirk. It felt good, strapped to her waist. It made her feel more confident. She gave her old dagger a long, sentimental look before offering it to Lindie.  
  
"Would you care to buy this from me?" she asked.  
  
The merchant took one look at it and complained: "But it's rusty!"  
  
"It has saved my life many times," Naramira countered. "I'm almost reluctant to part with it."  
  
"I'll take it, but I'll only give you four gold pieces for it."  
  
"That's fine," Naramira agreed. "I'll see you soon, Lindie."  
  
"Take care, Naramira," the merchant waved as Naramira walked away through the throng of people. "It's a dangerous world out there," she called after her.  
  
Naramira did not reply. She knew that all too well.  
  
******  
  
"Griffin!" someone shouted. There were many people in the woods that day, all hunting spiders for their silk, like Naramira was. She turned and looked up in the direction the man was pointing. Around her, people were running for cover. The man hesitated another few seconds, before flashing her a terrified look and also bolting.  
  
Naramira watched the griffin approach in rapt awe. The creature had the body of a lion, but the head and wings of an eagle. She knew it was dangerous, that only seasoned warriors could face a griffin and live to tell the tale. Strangely enough, she was not afraid of it. The griffin flew right over her, barely so much as glancing at the young enchantress, the wind beating from its powerful wings whipping her hair out behind her.  
  
Soon it was out of sight, and people began emerging from their hiding places. Everyone looked at her in amazement and wonder. Naramira could not explain what had happened, and their incredulous faces made her feel uncomfortable. She grabbed her satchel full of silk strands and made her way through the woods to the sand dunes, heading towards the cave.  
  
When she approached the place she had died a few days ago, she stopped short. She looked at the sand in detached objectivity. The inner turmoil that had wracked her since her resurrection suddenly subsided, leaving her disinterested and unafraid. 'I've already died. What's the worst that can happen to me now?'  
  
The cave was just as full of people as ever, but Drutt was nowhere in sight. Naramira sold her silk strands to another tailor and went to sit down at the entrance of the cave, watching the variety of people pass by and taking in the sounds of their haggling.  
  
A man wearing a scarlet robe trimmed with blue lace and on which a yellow sun blazed came to sit next to her. His skin was a deep, rich brown and a high, shining forehead could be glimpsed from underneath his hood. Golden rings flashed from his fingers and he carried a staff with a gold-fashioned serpent's head on it. The man looked frail to her, as if he would not be much use in a fight, but Naramira could sense his overwhelming self- confidence. This was not someone to underestimate.  
  
"Hail, fellow Mindweaver," he greeted her in a strange accent.  
  
"Hail, good sir," she replied, unsure of what to make of this foreign man. He seemed too impressed with himself for the young enchantress' liking. His gaudy robes and choice of jewellery made her wonder whether he was a travelling actor. But the staff he carried made her slightly uncomfortable.  
  
"You seem troubled, young one. May I offer advice?"  
  
"You may speak freely, sir. I may choose not to follow your advice, but I will listen," she said, smiling.  
  
The man let her comment pass, his pride undaunted. "I do not know what troubles you, but I can tell from your attire, although not your bearing, that you are a Mindweaver, as am I, and that, young one, means that you can and will resolve the issue without fail."  
  
Naramira frowned. "Why do you call me that?"  
  
"Because that is what you are, if I am not mistaken, and I very rarely am mistaken. A webspinner, threading the thoughts of others into a pattern that suits your purpose. Weaving their minds into a picture for your delight. Bending their will to yours and triumphing over their sensibilities. A god among ordinary mortals."  
  
Naramira bit her lower lip to keep from laughing. A god among mortals? Surely the man must be deluded. She got up to leave and brushed the dust from her newly-repaired green robe.  
  
"Good day to you, sir."  
  
The man also got to his feet and bowed before her. "Remember, young one, you have the power to achieve anything. Anything." His black eyes held her own for a minute. With great willpower, Naramira shook her head, as if shaking off an enchantment, and looked away from the strange man's unwavering stare. She could feel his gaze on her back as she walked away.  
  
******  
  
'There it is.' Naramira was laying on her stomach in the sand, peeking out over the dune at the air elemental not far off. At the sight of it, an icy chill formed at the bottom of her spine, but she ignored it. She had not come here this day to be afraid. She would face her killer and triumph, or be killed again. 'I can do anything, anything!' she thought, whimsically.  
  
A snake slithered past her in the sand and she recoiled slightly from it. Her bravery did not extend that far!  
  
She got up and took two tiny daggers out of her satchel. A long incantation followed, after which a golden glow surrounded the daggers, animating them into a mockery of life that ardently floated behind her as she slowly, carefully followed the mountain ridge closer to the elemental. Then, a few whispered words and her magical shielding was up, her image turned hazy and her own strength magically enhanced. She was taking no chances.  
  
She took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. 'Goddess of Love, help me succeed this day in ridding Norrath of this great evil. Before it kills another innocent victim.'  
  
Naramira said the words that would drain the creature's strength. The air elemental turned around in surprise as it felt itself weaken. It saw the enchantress and, with a roar as if Xegony, Queen of Air, herself had descended from the heavens, it rushed at the girl who stood steadfastly awaiting its approach. She fired a Suffocating Sphere at it and then drew her dirk moments before the elemental was upon her.  
  
Naramira ducked out of its reach, avoiding its icy fingers, but she was just a moment too slow as it punched her with rage-filled accuracy, leaving a red mark on her cheek that turned into a blue-black bruise almost immediately. This propelled her animated daggers into action. They would not let their mistress be treated so. The elemental found itself being pierced from all directions at once, as the animation whipped around it, piercing it left, then right, then left, too fast for the creature to counter the onslaught.  
  
The blades were not magical, however, and could not kill the elemental. Naramira knew this. She'd hoped her animation would serve as a diversion, giving her enough time to do fatal damage with her new weapon.  
  
Bright colours fluxed about her, stunning the elemental motionless. With a hatred so intense Naramira was surprised at her own fury, she drove the dirk deep into the creature's ethereal body. This time, her magical blade did not meet with empty air. She forced it in so deep she could see her own hand through the creature's insubstantial torso.  
  
And just like that it was over. The elemental fell to the ground and the swirling wind that formed its lifeless corpse dissipated.  
  
A great burden lifted from Naramira's mind. She stumbled to the ground. Wracking sobs escaped her as she finally came to grips with her own death. She had faced her fear and had triumphed over it. There would in all likelihood be countless more life-threatening encounters, but now she no longer flinched away from the thought. She was ready to handle anything her destiny might throw at her.  
  
The two animated daggers came closer, floating protectively over their mistress, as if wanting to lend their strength to hers. They did not understand that her tears were not of sorrow, but were rather tears of elation.  
  
******  
  
Master Jusathorn did not say anything, but his look of approval spoke volumes. He had summoned the young enchantress to his study soon after she had returned to Freeport. Naramira had recounted the tale of her death, no longer reluctant to share the experience. She had told him how she had searched out the elemental and how she had confronted and killed it.  
  
"I am proud of you, young Initiate," was all he said. Naramira smiled. The guildmaster was not one to praise lightly. Those few words meant more to her than a long speech from anyone else would have done.  
  
The birdman ruffled his feathers, as if changing the subject. "And so are the Elders. I received word this morning. You have been awarded the third spell-circle."  
  
Naramira started. After all she had been through, she had not expected this. Often she had feared for her future practising the arcane arts and had more likely expected to be barred from the Academy. This was a reward she was very grateful for.  
  
"Do not look so surprised, young Initiate. Did I not say to you that you show an aptitude?" the guildmaster asked. "The third circle is an important one, as it encompasses most of the basic skills of enchantment. Master this spell-circle, and there will be no stopping you on your path to becoming a great Coercer."  
  
Naramira thanked the Aviak for his encouragement and took her leave. She closed the door to his study quietly behind her and gingerly touched the black bruise on her cheek. Then she took a deep breath and made her way down the tower steps and headed for the library, where she would purchase the spells for the third spell-circle. 


	6. The Deathfist

With a pitiful growl the bear fell to the ground, dead. Naramira did not like killing animals, but this one had foolishly attacked the young enchantress while walking through the woods of the East Commonlands. She had to protect herself and it was not her fault the bear had thought her an easy meal. She bent down and very adeptly skinned the dead animal, folded the pelt into a neat bundle so it wouldn't drip blood everywhere and stuffed it into her satchel.

"Well, Jabober," she addressed the animated daggers floating by her side. "I think the time has come to move on. Killing spiders and pumas just isn't as challenging as it used to be." The animation didn't reply. It never did. Naramira sighed. She had had no idea that her life would be this solitary when she had accepted the first spell-circle. The Academy had been full of young novices learning the magical arts, but now the young enchantress found herself completely alone, with no one she could really call her friend.

She was on her way back to the inn she was staying at. Her rumbling stomach told her it was just about lunchtime and mistress Elora had been roasting a lamb on the spit since early that morning. Naramira entered the inn and followed her nose to the common-room. Something smelled delicious! Unfortunately, everyone else staying at the inn was thinking the same thing. Not a single table was available. The young enchantress stared perplexed at the bustle.

"You're welcome to share my table," she heard a man's voice say beside her. He was a few years older than Naramira, but still young. A tarnished long-sword and a dented shield leaned against the table. His dark brown hair hung loosely at chin-length and well-developed muscles bulged underneath his chain mail armour. A broad smile welcomed her to his table. Naramira instinctively knew they would get along well.

"Thank you," she said as she sat down opposite him.

"Who's your friend?" he asked, winking at the animation floating by Naramira's side.

"Oh, don't mind him," she replied, blushing. She snapped her fingers and the daggers fell lifelessly to the ground. She quickly picked them up and stuffed them into her satchel. "Just a little extra protection for when I'm hunting, although Jabober is usually more trouble than he's worth."

The man grinned. "You need protection, then?"

"More often than you might think," she joked. "I keep waiting for my knight in shining armour to come to my rescue, but no such luck so far." She blushed as she suddenly realised what that must have sounded like to the man.

His smile only broadened and he said: "You might be in luck today then. My name is Jaldore, paladin of ten seasons. Hero and rescuer of damsels in distress."

Naramira laughed. "Naramira, enchantress of the third circle and damsel frequently in distress," she introduced herself. She smiled brightly at a waitress as the girl put two steaming plates of food before the companions. The noise in the common-room lessened as the people enjoyed their meal.

"So," Naramira said. "What brings you to the Commonlands?"

"I'm on my first quest," the paladin replied. "The Knights of Truth, the order I belong to, has opened hostilities against the Deathfist. I'm to find their main camp and… well, let's just say I have to make them regret ever coming within a stone's throw of Freeport."

"And you're going to do this all by yourself?" Naramira asked, raising a questioning eyebrow. She knew paladins were skilled fighters, warriors who had dedicated their lives to the service of their god, but they were not invincible. It would take more than just a holy resolve to take an orc camp out on your own.

"I could use a little help, I guess," Jaldore admitted. "Are you familiar with the area?"

Naramira nodded. "I've seen their main camp, a dozen or so tents grouped together in a circle. They have no defensive structures surrounding the camp, but regular patrols sweep the perimeter and I've seen the glimmer of crude magic brightening the camp at night. My guess is that you'll have to deal with more than just swords if you try to attack it."

The paladin looked impressed. "You seem to have spent some time studying them."

"It's personal," Naramira replied. "One of them tried to kill me once." Her hand involuntarily strayed to her back where the orcish spear had pierced her a few months ago. She did not have any plans of revenge, but if this paladin was going to hunt orc, she was going with him.

They talked tactics while finishing their meal. Naramira described everything she knew about the orcs' habits, while Jaldore mulled it all over, carefully considering their options. Finally, he said: "I think it's quite clear we can't do this on our own. We'll need help."

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation," a high-elf woman interrupted them. Her lustrous long blonde hair hung down to her waist and her blue eyes were keen. She was dressed in black plate armour and a steel mace was strapped to her belt. "My name is Tempesta," she introduced herself. "A cleric of Tunare of the third order. I would like to aid you in this venture."

"Welcome, friend," Jaldore greeted her and motioned to her to sit at their table. She accepted his offer. "That makes three of us," the paladin said. "Would that be enough?"

Naramira looked doubtful and Tempesta shook her head. "No, but I can make a few enquiries among the other patrons of this inn. I guarantee that by tomorrow morning, we'll have at least three more people willing to join us."

"That's settled then," Jaldore said. "We'll meet at dawn's first light."

The grass was still wet with morning dew. It soaked through Naramira's green robe, making her shiver. The orc camp stood in the shade of a looming mountain, the sun's heat would not be warming her any time soon. She lay on her stomach, carefully peering over the hill at the camp, Jaldore and Tempesta to either side of her.

Jaldore motioned to their companions, a man, a woman and a halfling who had been unwilling to tell them what profession he followed. Together, the six adventurers slowly crept down the hill, until they were within bowshot of the camp, but still safely concealed by the woods. Everyone gathered around the paladin, who said in a hushed voice: "Here's the plan. We pick the sentries off one by one as they guard the perimeter, as quietly as possible. We don't want the whole camp to come charging at us."

"If that happens, Naramira can take care of it," Tempesta said confidently.

'_I can?'_ Naramira thought to herself, alarmed. She motioned the cleric to one side and whispered urgently in her ear: "How am I going to take care of it?"

The elf smiled kindly. "Have you learned to mesmerise yet?"

Naramira nodded. "I've never used the spell, but I know the words."

"Good. I don't know how it works exactly, but I know it's something only an enchanter can do, or so the last one I fought alongside with assured me. It stops the enemy right in it's tracks. If things start getting bad, try it out."

They rejoined the others, Naramira slightly shaken by the responsibility the cleric had just dropped on her shoulders. She did not have any notion what it was like fighting with a group of other people and it suddenly seemed to her as if all their lives depended on her. She hoped fervently the fight would be an easy one.

"Everyone ready?" Jaldore asked. Everybody nodded in assent, but for the other man in the group. He said an incantation that sounded strange to Naramira and suddenly, with a rush of wind, an air elemental hovered by his side.

"Marr!" Naramira exclaimed and unsheathed her dirk. A protective shielding surrounded her almost immediately, and she readied herself for the attack, the words of suffocation already on her lips.

The man threw his hands in the air, warding her off. "Don't be alarmed," he said, shocked at her violent reaction.

"What in the name of all the gods is that?" Jaldore demanded, pointing at the elemental.

"It's my pet," the man explained. "I'm a magician, if you haven't realised by now. I summon elemental beings to do my bidding." He looked at Naramira, who was still tensed and glaring at the insubstantial creature.

"Keep that thing away from me," was all she said between clenched teeth.

"Anyone else have any surprises for us?" Jaldore asked, unconsciously edging closer to the furious enchantress, placing himself between her and the elemental.

"Uh, yes," the other woman in the group said, looking in the direction of the camp. She unhooked her bow from around her shoulder and quickly drew an arrow. "There's an orc centurion heading this way."

Jaldore spun around to look in the direction she was aiming. The orc had not seen them yet, but he must have heard the commotion. He was carefully walking towards the woods where they were hidden, his long spear pointed out in front of him.

The woman let loose her arrow, which hit the orc squarely in the chest. It fell to the ground with a thud, no cry of help escaping his lips. The woman quickly darted out of the bushes and pulled the body into the woods.

"Good work, Rawena," Jaldore called softly to her. She smiled briefly before creeping back to the edge of the trees and waited for another orc to come within range.

She didn't have to wait long. Soon another centurion came into view and Rawena let loose another arrow, but her aim was off this time and she swore as it pierced the orc's thigh. The orc bellowed in pain. Rawena turned and ran to the rest of the group. "We might have trouble," she warned.

"I'd say so," the magician said, an edge of panic in his voice. Five orcs, including the wounded centurion, were rushing towards them. With angry shouts they dashed into the woods and confronted the group of adventurers.

Jaldore drew his sword and parried the wounded orc's spear thrust. Then three others were on top of him, the fifth orc standing off to one side, mumbling something incoherent. The halfling darted into the fray, pulled two evil-looking daggers from his sleeves and stabbed at the orcs from behind. Rawena threw her bow to the ground, drew her own sword and also started hacking left and right. With an imperious gesture the magician sent the elemental into battle, then pulled out his spellbook and started muttering under his breath.

Off to one side, just out of melee range, Naramira stood as if transfixed. What could she do to help? None of her solitary hunting experience had prepared her for this!

"Enchantress!" Tempesta yelled, her hands glowing with magic. "Mesmerise them! Quickly!"

The shouted command propelled the young enchantress into action. She said the unfamiliar words of the spell and pointed a finger at the mumbling orc just as a white light started emanating from his hands. A purple ring of magic surrounded her target and suddenly she could feel the orc's mind struggling against her will. But Naramira was stronger. He was unable to break loose from her spell and stood entranced, incapable of moving a muscle except for his eyes. Naramira shouted in elation!

Quickly she cast her magic on the other orcs, but almost as soon as she could feel them in her mind, her control over them was severed as the other group members slashed at the orcs, distracting them from Naramira's compulsion. As one, they turned away from their attackers and rushed towards the enchantress. She had just enough time to be terrified before three short swords slashed at her. She cried out in pain, but as quickly as she was lacerated, her wounds healed magically as the cleric prayed for her goddess' blessing on the young enchantress.

"Pick on somebody your own size!" Jaldore shouted. He had finished off the wounded orc and now began hacking wildly at the other three surrounding Naramira. Their attention diverted, she scrambled away from the fight, only to see one of the orcs ignoring the paladin's taunts and rushing at Tempesta. The cleric was defenceless, too busy trying to keep Jaldore alive to protect herself.

"No!" Naramira shouted as the orc raised his sword to strike the elf. She said the words and the orc stood transfixed, eyes rolling wildly as it realised it could not move. The cleric smiled gratefully before continuing her prayers.

Suddenly everything turned dark. _'I'm blind!'_ Naramira panicked. A magical force struck her, propelling her backwards. She hit the trunk of a tree and slid painfully to the ground. Her body ached, but she ignored it, focussing on the sounds around her and trying to anticipate another attack. She felt the mesmerised orc break free from her restraint and heard a shout of alarm from the magician. Then something grabbed her by the throat and lifted her up, her feet dangling in the air. An orc bellowed a war cry in her face, his stinking breath almost enough to knock her unconscious. Just as suddenly as it had disappeared, her vision returned. She stared into a face livid with an animal hatred. She reacted out of pure instinct. Bright colours surrounded her and, as the orc stood stunned, she quickly mesmerised it.

There was no time to be relieved. The battle raged on around her. Jaldore and Rawena faced an orc each, while Tempesta stood with her hand against a tree for support, exhausted. The air elemental and the halfling were trying to distract an orc chasing the magician, who was running around in circles in a vain attempt to escape.

As quickly as she could, Naramira mesmerised the pursuing orc and the one facing Rawena. "Everyone help Jaldore!" she shouted. "I can keep the rest occupied." _'I hope.'_ The others heard and complied. As one they attacked their single target, which didn't last long with the team's combined might directed at him. As he fell to the ground, they all turned and attacked Rawena's orc. Naramira heard a grunt beside her and turned to see her own orc slowly moving his right arm. _'Oh no, you don't!'_ Another purple ring glowed around him and he glared at her with wild eyes.

She watched as the group killed Rawena's orc, howls of frustration from the other two entranced orcs ringing inside her head. It was an odd feeling, their awareness imprisoned in a corner of her mind. Her power over them was complete, although she could feel them striving to break free. It came almost as a shock to her when one of the orcs' attention on her was diverted by a slash of the paladin's blade. Forgetting completely about the enchantress' influence, the orc lifted his own blade in defence. He was still exhausted from chasing after the magician though, and the group quickly finished him off.

"I have one here waiting for you," she reminded her companions. "It's an oracle, so beware his magic."

"He's no match for us," Jaldore grinned. With one accurate swing, the paladin decapitated the orc, then wiped his bloody blade on the body. "Phew. Good fight," he said, still grinning.

"An arrow at any one of them will bring all six to us," Rawena said, frowning as she looked at the guards mulling about the entrance to the orc camp. It was late afternoon, the alarm had been raised in the camp after many of their comrades had mysteriously disappeared. The wary orcs now patrolled the perimeter in groups of two or three, eyeing the surrounding forest distrustfully.

"I'm sure our enchantress can take of it," Jaldore replied. He was covered in blood, some of it his own, but the healing prayers of the elven cleric had kept him and the rest of the group alive through a whole day of close calls. The paladin had proven himself a skilled fighter, although his sword was now notched in several places.

Naramira couldn't help but smile at the vote of confidence in her. She had learned many things during the course of the day. She now knew she had power over the minds of others in a way more profound than she had ever imagined. She had also, however, tested the limits of that power and knew that it was far from absolute. "I can handle two or three extras, but more than that is beyond my abilities at this point," she said truthfully.

"With the halfling gone, it might prove difficult to kill them fast enough before they break free from Naramira's control," Tempesta remarked.

"Looks like you might need some help," a cheerful voice said unexpectedly, startling everybody, hands reaching for weapons as they all quickly spun about to confront the speaker. A lovely high-elf girl smiled merrily at the adventurers. Her long golden hair glistened in the sun and she was dressed in a green robe similar to Naramira's elven robe.

"Lyise!" Jaldore exclaimed, rushing forward to hug her. "What are you doing here? I thought you went home." He smiled, obviously pleased to see her again.

"I changed my mind. It happens quite frequently," she replied whimsically. "Now are you going to introduce me to your friends or do I have to steal your mind and read your thoughts?" she joked.

The paladin laughed and quickly introduced his companions. "And this is Lyise, an enchantress also of the third circle," he finished. "She might just be able to supply the added control we need to take care of those orcs."

"Let's get started then," the magician said. "The sun will set soon and I have no inclination to be in these woods after dark." He shivered and looked nervously around at the surrounding trees, his pet elemental hovering by his side.

Jaldore nodded and Rawena crept closer to the camp. She aimed carefully and let loose an arrow. The nearest orc fell to the ground with a roar, the arrow firmly wedged inside his abdomen. His companions stared uncomprehendingly at his body for a few seconds, then rushed at the woods to where the adventurers were hidden. Another orc, taller and brawnier than the others, who had sat unnoticed inside the nearest tent, also stormed into the woods, wielding a mighty axe.

"That's a clan chief!" was all Jaldore had chance to say before he was overwhelmed by the onslaught. Rawena jumped to his aid as the two enchantresses struggled to keep the mass of orcs mesmerised in the confusion. Tempesta had her hands up in the air, a continuous invocation to her goddess on her lips.

A shrill scream suddenly pierced the air. Naramira spun about to see the orc clan chief wrenching his bloody axe from the dead magician's head. Her stomach convulsed and she struggled not to gag at the caster's mangled body, his one arm chopped off at the elbow and soaking the grass with dark red blood. The orc looked up from his kill and saw the shocked enchantress. Almost instantly he stood in front of her, his axe raised high for another killing blow.

All of a sudden blood squirted over her and the orc's arm flew through the air, still clenching the axe. He bellowed in pain as Jaldore's sword cut into his side. The orc twisted around, pulling the weapon out of the paladin's grasp and wrenched it out of his body. Jaldore's eyes widened as his opponent, bleeding heavily and holding the weapon in his left hand, challenged him with his own sword. As the orc rushed the unarmed paladin, Naramira reacted, almost without thinking. She drew her dirk and threw it at the orc. Her aim had never been truer. It pierced the orc chief in the back and he dropped the sword in surprise. The enchantress wrenched her dirk from his back as bright colours suddenly fluxed about her, stunning him motionless. She had given Jaldore just enough time to pick his sword up and in one fluid motion, he lopped the clan chief's head off.

The paladin flashed her a brief smile before a shout from Tempesta drew his attention. "Paladin! Come swiftly!" The cleric was fighting an orc off, parrying his sword adeptly with her own steel mace. "Not me!" she shouted as Jaldore came to her aid. "Rawena!"

The ranger lay on her back on the grass a few feet away, her sword discarded and her face turning blue. The dead magician's liberated air elemental was on top of her and was slowly choking her to death. Jaldore slashed at the elemental, only to find his sword pass through the insubstantial body harmlessly. He uttered an oath as the creature turned from the woman and fixed its cold gaze on him.

Naramira felt an icy shiver run down her back. She had known the elemental would turn out to be a danger to them all. She had never trusted the creature for an instant.

She threw a quick glance at Lyise to see if she was still coping. Beads of sweat stood on the elven enchantress' forehead as she struggled to keep the three remaining orcs mesmerised. Tempesta had killed her orc and now crouched at Rawena's side, muttering words of healing.

Then she ran to Jaldore's side. The paladin was down on one knee, only great strength of will kept him from succumbing to the elemental. "Jaldore, use my dirk. It's magical," she said urgently. She quickly mesmerised the creature, but the malign will suddenly trapped in her mind slammed her consciousness with a force of pure hatred. She fell to the ground, the creature freed from her domination.

"No!" Jaldore roared. He grabbed Naramira's dirk and stuck it deep into the creature's body. He watched in grim satisfaction as the elemental's airy torso dissipated. Then he rushed over to the young enchantress and gently lifted her head from the ground. "Nara, are you alright?" he asked, worried.

She opened her eyes and smiled at the paladin. "Did you kill it?"

He nodded wordlessly.

"I hate to interrupt you two," Tempesta said, smiling. "But our other enchantress is still struggling to keep three orcs busy here."

Naramira blushed prettily and Jaldore coughed, embarrassed. He helped Naramira to her feet, then took up his sword again and began a grim dance of death.

Mistress Elora's common-room was quiet that evening. She frowned disapprovingly at the four adventurers sitting near the fireplace. They had caused quite a stir among her other patrons when they had returned earlier that evening, blood-spattered, the paladin carrying the limp body of one of their companions, but a triumphant look upon their faces.

"Will Rawena be alright?" Lyise asked, concern etched upon her face.

"It will take her a day or two to recover," Tempesta replied. "I've healed her body, but she's still in shock. That's something I cannot help her with."

"That poor magician," the elven enchantress continued. "I wonder if he had any family? They would surely like to know where his body is buried."

Naramira paled at the recollection. She had not liked the man very much and had distrusted him for summoning the elemental in the first place. His death had been gruesome, however. She wouldn't have wished it on him or anyone else.

"I will make some enquiries when I return to Freeport," Jaldore said, playing distractedly with a necklace of war-beads he had looted from the orc clan chief's corpse. "He will be remembered in the annals of the Knights of Truth as having helped us rout the Deathfist. His family can take pride in that."

Master Jusathorn's words suddenly came to the young enchantress. _'You could die a month from now, but you could die gloriously, your name and your deeds forever remembered in song.'_ It seemed a small compensation for such a horrible death to her. _'All you need to do is decide what you want from life.' _With a start, she realised what the guildmaster had been trying to tell her all along. Life is about living. It was as simple as that. She just had to make the most of every moment, no matter what the rewards or consequences might be.

"You seem deep in thought, Nara," Jaldore interrupted her thoughts, the familiar shortening of her name coming easily to his lips. "Is something troubling you?"

"No, I've just realised something profoundly simple," she said, smiling. Then she changed the subject. "Are we all going our separate ways tomorrow then?"

The two elves nodded, but the paladin frowned. "I have to return to my order to report on what we've done today. Would you like to come with me, Nara?" he asked.

Naramira smiled, surprised. "I would like to, but there's something else I need to do first. Can I catch up with you in a month or so?" She had been putting off making the trip to High Hold Keep to buy a specific spell for some time now. She figured she was ready to go on that journey now.

Jaldore nodded and stood up to go to bed. "I will see you soon then." He smiled at Lyise and Tempesta. "May we meet again."

"In this life or the next," Tempesta agreed. Lyise only smiled.

_Author's Note: Some names have been changed and some have been added to enhance the plot. Apologies to anyone mentioned in this tale (previous chapters and those to come) whose names are similar and have no recollection of the events depicted._


	7. A Perilous Journey

The verdant green plains of the West Commonlands stretched out before her as far as the eye could see. Naramira silently went over the rather vague directions the innkeeper had given her: _'Through the woods of the East Commons until you reach the open plains. There is a road, but do not take it. Head north until you see the mountainside, then follow that westwards until you reach the haunted forest of Kithicor. The High Hold Pass wounds through the mountains on the other side. From there you will find the Keep easily, or so I've been told.'_

Naramira shivered and wrapped her traveller's cloak tightly about her. Winter was coming on and she did not relish the idea of sleeping outdoors in wild country. She hoped she would reach the Keep before snow closed the Pass off to her.

A road meandered over the hills in a westerly direction, as the innkeeper had said. She was tempted to follow it, there was sure to be a few inns along the way where she could stay and take cover from the weather. She sighed and turned north. _'A warning heeded is trouble avoided,'_ as mistress Elora was fond of saying.

The day's journey was unremarkable. She met no other travellers and encountered no wild creatures, with the exception of a solitary willow-wisp that flew past her on its way to wherever wisps go in this lonely country. She reached the mountainside just as the sky turned orange with sunset and rolled her blanket out on the soft green grass at the edge of the ridge. After a cold supper of water and tasteless rations, she prepared for sleep. Despite the chill seeping into her bones from the ground, Naramira was soon fast asleep.

A grunt and a nudge from a cold nose against her cheek startled her awake. She grabbed her light-stone out of her satchel and held it aloft fearfully. A young kodiak scrambled away from the bright light. Naramira sighed in relief. Although the black-and-white bears were extremely dangerous and more aggressive than their brown cousins, this one was hardly more than a baby. It looked at her with curious black eyes, as if wondering if it were safe to come closer and have another sniff.

Naramira quickly stood up and clapped her hands to frighten it off. "Shoo! Go away," she said. The kodiak took a few hesitant steps backward, then stood still and regarded her further. "That's it, keep going," the young enchantress encouraged it. "Don't make me Fear you."

An idea came to her and she quickly got her spellbook out of her satchel, while keeping an eye on the inquisitive kodiak, and paged to where she had inscribed a spell called Sentinel. "Hope this works," she muttered and began the long incantation. A bright purple nimbus glowed around her, extending about five feet in a circle to all sides of the young enchantress. The kodiak yelped and retreated into the darkness. Naramira smiled and got back under her blanket. She laid her head down on her satchel and closed her eyes. Just as she began drifting off to sleep again, a sizzling noise and another yelp from the young kodiak woke her. The animal looked accusingly at her as it licked its paw. "It's your own fault, you know," Naramira said. "Go home now. Before your mother comes looking for you." The thought made her apprehensive, but she decided there was no point in worrying over it and closed her eyes again.

She had a restless night. The young kodiak tried several times to penetrate her protective shield and only finally gave up a few hours before dawn. Not long after, Naramira grudgingly got up, rolled her blanket up into her satchel and set off along the mountain ridge, grumbling and yawning.

Her journey continued uneventfully. She passed several bandit camps and gave a wide berth around a group of standing stones similar to those where she had had her near-fatal encounter with a goblin shaman in the Butcherblock Mountains. She slept undisturbed each night with the Sentinel spell protectively around her. Although it hadn't snowed yet, the nights were becoming noticeably colder and the grass was coated in frost. Naramira looked forward to the warm bed she could expect at the Keep. She had just about had enough of the monotonous scenery of the open plains when, about a fortnight later, she arrived at the edge of Kithicor Forest.

* * *

Naramira peered into the foreboding gloom of the forest. Dusk was setting and an eerie undead cackle coming from deeper into the woods made her skin crawl. _'I'm not going in there after dark,'_ she decided and set up camp a few feet from the nearest tree.

She did not sleep that night. Kithicor was haunted. Naramira sat with her back against the cold stone of the mountainside, clutching her spellbook to her chest as if it could ward her against her fears. Her eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the forest.

Maniacal laughter suddenly echoed from the shadows. Naramira scrambled to her feet, the words of suffocation on her lips. But nothing came out of the woods. She sat back down again. _'This is going to be a long night,' _she thought, her eyes roaming the edges of the forest. Her whole body was tensed and somewhere, in the corner of her mind, she had the feeling that something was not quite right.

Then she realised what was bothering her. She was being watched. From the murk two purple glowing eyes fixed her gaze. Naramira's heart skipped a beat. Only once before had she felt such malice towards her. Although they had only locked eyes for a few seconds then, Naramira remembered the dark-elf at the cave in the East Commons well. That elf had hated her almost as much as this creature did. Its body concealed in darkness, the eyes held her gaze a few more minutes before they too faded out of sight. Naramira breathed a sigh of relief.

And so the night passed, its ominous silence disturbed occasionally by the hair-raising shrieks of unknown horrors and the howling of wolves. Naramira was grateful when the darkness finally retreated and the sun's light scared the gloom of the forest and the evil creatures in it away.

The early morning light revealed a barely perceptible footpath winding through the trees. Naramira followed it cautiously, the night's fears still fresh in her mind.

Not far into the woods she encountered a deserted log cabin. She peered inquisitively through a shattered windowpane. A thick layer of dust threatened to make her sneeze. There was no sign of life, but for the disarray of clothes strewn over the floor, broken plates and an overturned chair. She suspected the previous occupant had left the house in a hurry. She couldn't imagine who would want to live in this forest.

Suddenly something grabbed her from behind. Bright rainbow colours fluxed instinctively about her and she wrenched herself free from her attacker's grip. She spun around to confront her assailant. Momentarily stunned, the undead skeleton still stood with its arms outstretched towards her. Quickly, before it recovered, Naramira unsheathed her dirk and stuck it deep into the skeleton's chest, where its heart would have been. As her spell wore off, the hollow eye sockets gave her one despairing look before the creature fell to the ground in a clatter of bones.

'_I've lingered here too long,'_ she realised and set off along the path once more. The air under the trees were close, stagnant, as if fresh air was an unnecessary luxury here. A thick fog obscured the young enchantress' view and dampened her hair and clothes. She shivered.

She might have been walking for hours, when she came to a split in the path. _'Which way?'_ she wondered. The innkeeper's directions had given her no clues to this part of the journey. Naramira peered in both directions. The one path went south, the other north. She wanted to go west. Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. _'It must be getting late. I have to get out of this forest before dark.'_ A sense of urgency suddenly knotted her stomach.

She decided to go north_. 'That way, if I come up against the mountain again, I can follow that westwards,' _she reasoned.

She hadn't gone far when, through the mist, she saw something laying in the road. Naramira stopped. Was it a trap? Did she dare go closer? She moved forwards cautiously. It was a body. It wasn't breathing. It was laying with its back towards Naramira. She touched the shoulder and shuddered at its coldness. Whoever this was had been dead for days. She turned the corpse over and gasped as she recognised the features.

His wild brown hair was caked with mud and the clear blue eyes that had once sparkled with good humour was now staring sightlessly into the sky. Naramira's own eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Kiran," she whispered softly.

A twig crunched behind her and Naramira turned to see a dark-elf slowly advancing on her. His eyes glowed purple in the fading light. In his hand he held a cruel-looking scimitar. "Foolish human," his voice grated like steel being sharpened on stone. "To linger here as daylight fades by the body of a dead elf deserves a fate similar to his."

Naramira didn't hesitate. She ran. She ran so fast the trees were a confusing blur, but she kept to the road as much as she could, the dark-elf close on her heels. Onwards she ran, heedless of anything but that she had to escape, had to get out of this forest that had killed a friend. She came to another split in the path, but didn't hesitate, following the left fork on instinct. For once, her sense of direction had not failed her: she could see the perimeter of the trees. She was going to make it. She heard the elf cursing behind her. She risked a glance over her shoulder and then wished she hadn't. Her pursuer was so close he could almost touch her. Fear pumped adrenaline into her exhausted legs. She burst through the edge of the trees and heard the elf's cursing fade in the distance as he was left behind, unable to follow her any further.

Her legs finally gave in as she reached the mountainside. She slumped to the ground and fell asleep with the entrance to the High Hold Pass before her.

* * *

The clash of steel on steel woke her. Her limbs ached from sleeping on the cold stone ground and she climbed stiffly to her feet, thinking longingly of her warm bed back at mistress Elora's inn. At least the cliffs looming overhead had protected her from the worst of the weather. The sky was a sleet grey colour and a biting wind whistled through the Pass.

A short, anguished yell snapped her thoughts back to the present. It was followed by a brutish bellow and the sound of shields banged together in challenge. _'Orcs,'_ Naramira realised with distaste. She picked her satchel up and peered carefully around a bend in the pass.

A scene of carnage met her eyes. Dead bodies littered the ground, fresh blood still seeped from wounds and ran in rivulets towards the young enchantress. Naramira's empty stomach turned disconcertingly.

Standing over the bodies of their fallen comrades, two men, their armour slashed and spattered with blood, faced a group of seven or eight orcs. The one man, a barbarian warrior with long flaxen-coloured hair, flashed his companion, dark-haired and wielding a double-bladed battle-axe, a mirthless grin. "Let's show these orcish filth how bravely men can die," he said. His friend nodded, tightening his grip on his axe, his face set as he grimly watched the orcs advancing.

Naramira knew their situation was desperate. Skilled warriors they might be, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. As the flaxen-haired barbarian roared a wordless battle cry and stormed at the orcs, she knew she could not watch them die. She would have to try and help.

She said the words and a purple ring of magic surrounded a nearby orc. Naramira took an involuntary step backwards as the orc's consciousness slammed into her mind. She fought with it, trying to subdue its will, but this orc was stronger than others she had encountered before. It wrenched free from her control and charged at her, its spear raised in anticipation of the kill.

An image of a goblin shaman flashed before her eyes. _'That's it!'_ she thought. Her hands glowed blue as she uttered the spell and she watched in grim satisfaction as thick twisting roots suddenly sprouted from the earth and ensnared her assailant. The orc bellowed in frustration as it tried desperately to free itself. _'If I can't mesmerise them, I can at least keep them occupied this way.'_ Quickly, Naramira ensnared another orc and the barbarian smiled gratefully as he stepped back out of its reach, one less opponent to defend himself against, for now.

As Naramira started casting the spell for the third time, strong claws suddenly grabbed her and flung her through the air. She fell to the ground and looked up in time to see a spear thrusting towards her. She ducked and avoided the fatal jab, but a searing pain shot through her right shoulder. The orc yanked its spear free and she cried out in agony. A spell memorised but never tested came unbidden to her lips and she shouted the unfamiliar words at the orc looming over her. Red magic blazed from her hands and hit the orc with a force that sent it reeling backwards. Its eyes bulging insanely, the orc watched in horror as images only it could see flashed before its eyes. A suffocating sphere suddenly encased it and the orc fell to the ground, clutching at its throat.

A shrill scream drew her attention away from her dying foe. The dark-haired warrior had fallen to the ground and a swift stab to the heart from an orcish blade killed him before the young enchantress' eyes. The barbarian yelled in rage and fear as he saw his friend's lifeless fingers relax around the handle of the huge axe. He turned to Naramira and shouted: "We cannot survive this! Run for your life!"

She needed no further urging. With the barbarian leading the way, she ran up the pass as fast as her still-tired legs could carry her. The remaining orcs pursued them through the twists and turns of the Pass relentlessly.

The path became steeper and steeper. Naramira knew she couldn't keep the pace up much longer. She hadn't eaten in two days and what rest she'd had the previous night was insufficient to keep her going now. The wound in her shoulder throbbed painfully and her green robe was wet with blood.

"The bridge!" the barbarian yelled, pointing at the narrow rickety structure spanning a ravine in front of them. "We're almost at the Keep!" Naramira had time to be relieved as the barbarian suddenly turned right into a narrow passageway instead of braving the unstable wooden crossing. She ran after him, their pursuers not far behind.

Naramira cried out suddenly as her foot tripped over something and she stumbled to the ground. "Wait!" she called out. The barbarian turned around and rushed to her aid. Quickly he helped her to her feet again.

"Not far now," he said. Then his eyes widened and he lifted his sword to parry an orc's blade. "Run!" he yelled. Naramira hesitated. She didn't want to leave him facing the orcs on his own. He turned his head and saw her still standing there. "Run!" he urged her again. A whistling sound was all warning they had before an arrow was suddenly firmly lodged in the man's stomach.

"No!" Naramira shouted as he stumbled to his knees. But she was too late to help him. Another arrow thumped into his chest and she knew he was mortally wounded. She turned and ran up the path. Round a bend, right then left, then right again and suddenly the gates of the High Hold Keep were in front of her.

The guards cried out in alarm when they saw her and opened the gate to admit her. She staggered through the entrance just as flakes of snow began falling from the sky. She fell into the arms of a mail-clad guardsman, who supported her as more guards rushed through the gate to dispatch of the orcs pursuing her.

"Are you alright, milady?" the guardsman asked, concern etched upon his face.

"So close," Naramira murmured. "We were so close."

* * *

Naramira sat down at the desk in the corner of her luxurious room in the Keep and copied the words of the spell she had travelled all this way for into her spellbook, making sure it was a perfect match to the scroll she had purchased from spellmaster Visilin earlier. When she had finished, she put the quill back into the jar of ink and looked at her handiwork. _Mircyl's Animation_. She hoped that this new companion would be worth the dangerous journey she had made to acquire this spell.

She stood up and walked towards the window. It had taken almost a week for the wound in her shoulder to heal and she had spent most of that time in her warm bed staring out the window at the falling snow. The white flakes drifting down from the sky was a strange sight to her. She thought the snow-covered mountain peaks was the loveliest landscape she had ever seen.

She turned away from the window, picked up her spellbook and the scroll and put it into her satchel. Then she carefully rolled her warm winter's cloak into a little bundle and packed it away into her satchel too. She made sure she had all her meagre belongings and then locked her room and went to return the key to the clerk in charge of the rooms.

"Everything seems in order, milady," the clerk said as she marked the enchantress' name and room number off on a list. "Are you sure you want to leave in this weather though? The snow can make the Pass very treacherous."

"That won't be a problem," Naramira replied. She weaved the spell and a gate to Freeport opened, the hot desert wind blowing the clerk's papers into disarray. The woman's eyes widened in amazement. "Farewell," Naramira said and stepped through the gate.

The hot humid air hit her with an almost palpable blow. Naramira watched as clouds of dust swirled around her. The guards on duty at the West Gate cried out when they saw her, then relaxed as one of them recognised her. Naramira hitched her satchel on her back and entered the city. _"It's good to be home,"_ she realised.


	8. The Barkeeper's Quest Part 1

The common-room of Tassel's Tavern was bustling with activity that evening as men, dwarves and elves came together in the camaraderie that usually exists when beer flowed in abundance. Laughter and talk filled the air, only occasionally interrupted by bickering voices that threatened to turn into the kind of brawl one found in taverns all over the world. Those who felt their blood rise with the innkeeper's potent brew and were looking to cause trouble were quickly subdued, however, by the stern presence of an off-duty detachment of the Knights of Truth. They were charged with keeping the peace in Freeport, and took their duty seriously, even on their one night off.

One of these Knights, a handsome man wearing a shining red suit of Crustacean plate armour was animatedly describing his latest adventure to a young dark-haired woman dressed in a green robe of foreign cut.

"And then the knight told me that the girl was his daughter and he gave me this suit in return for saving her life," Jaldore said, a broad smile lighting his face as he proudly showed off his new attire.

"It suits you," Naramira smiled. Her glance shifted to the jagged-toothed sword hanging at the paladin's side. "And that big knife you've got there?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Was that also a gift from the knight?"

"Yes," Jaldore nodded. "He took one look at the rusty one I'd been using and said that it was no fit weapon for a Knight of Truth. It handles like a dream. I thought it might be awkward to use at first, but it's well-balanced and not too heavy either. Of course, I still have to test it somewhere other than the practice yard." He drained his tankard of beer and waved to the serving-girl for a refill. "But enough about me. I don't think I've congratulated you yet – how does it feel to be an enchantress of the fourth circle?"

Naramira smiled. "I never thought I'd make it this far. I can only hope I don't disappoint the Elders' trust in me."

"And your apprenticeship? How is that coming along?"

"Better now. I had no idea jewel crafting was such a complicated art," Naramira replied. "I'm still only working on silver, but mistress Amber has me setting jaspers at the moment. Soon I'll be able to work with carnelians to make wedding rings." She couldn't conceal the hint of excitement in her voice. She had spent most of the remaining platinum pieces her benefactor, as she liked to think of the elf that had rescued her in the East Commons what seemed like an age ago but had really only been a few months, had given her then to pay for this apprenticeship. Mistress Amber was a strict taskmaster and did not tolerate incompetence, but she was a good teacher and had an eye for detail that could turn even the plainest silver band into an exquisite piece of art.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying it, Nara," Jaldore smiled. "The only skill I have is fishing, and that's just because I was hungry once and didn't have any alternative. I have a nice collection of old boots and rusty daggers to show how well-stocked the waters around here are," he joked.

Just then the tavern's door creaked open to reveal a slight feminine figure. "Ah, here she is," Naramira said as she recognised the pretty high-elf girl standing in doorway. "Lyise! Over here," she called out to their friend. The elven enchantress smiled and made her way to their table.

"Jaldore, I hardly recognised you! Love the new armour! Naramira, nice to see you again," Lyise said as she sat down. She ordered a glass of red wine and then said in a conspiratorial voice: "I suppose you two want to know why I asked you here tonight. Well, it's like this. I was in a bar in East Freeport a few nights ago…"

"You should know better than that, Lyise!" Jaldore interrupted her. "That part of town is not safe, especially at night and especially for an elven woman."

Lyise waved her hand dismissively. "I can take care of myself if I have to. Anyway, I was in this bar near the docks called the Seafarer's Roost…" She ignored Jaldore's deepening frown, took a sip of her wine and took out a small piece of parchment from somewhere within her robes. "The barkeeper, Nassin I think his name was. George or Graim or Gregor or something Nassin. Anyway, we started talking and he told me that he needed a few exotic ingredients for a recipe he's been dying to try out and that he'd reward the person who could get him these ingredients handsomely."

"What does he want, exactly?" Naramira asked.

"One kiola nut, a jar of honeyjum, one vial of Erud's Tonic and one Koalindl fish," she read from the parchment. "Granted, I don't know what half of these are, but I was hoping you two might have some idea."

"I don't like it," Jaldore said. "I don't know about the rest, but the Koalindl fish are sacred to the clerics of the Temple of Life in Qeynos. Harming them is punishable with death. This whole thing seems a bit shady to me."

"Oh come on, Jald, where's your sense of adventure?" Lyise complained.

"I must have left it in my other suit," he replied dryly. "Nara, what do you think of this?"

"I think you're just protesting for the sake of propriety," she teased. "We both know you won't let an adventure like this pass you by. I'm game, Lyise. And I think we should look for Erud's Tonic, whatever that might be, in Erudin."

"Good thinking," Lyise smiled, happy that she had won her friends over so easily. "The kiola nut is found on Sister Isle, my mother loves them. That's three things from the list already. When do you want to start?"

"I'll be ready to go whenever you are," Naramira said. "Jewel crafting can wait a bit."

"I'm off in two day's time," Jaldore replied. "I'd better come too. Who knows what kind of trouble you two will land yourself in." Naramira shared a smile with him, both knowing he was not as opposed to the adventure as he pretended to be.

"Wonderful!" the elven enchantress said. "I'll organise the boat. Meet you in two days' time at the docks. This is going to be so much fun!" she exclaimed.

000000000000000000

Naramira could taste the salty tang of the sea air on her lips as the _Maiden's Voyage_ sped through the waves, an easterly breeze billowing in its sails. She loved travelling by boat. She couldn't help but remember the last time this boat had taken her to unfamiliar shores. The young enchantress was more experienced now and surer of her own and her friends' abilities. She was looking forward to this adventure and promised herself that it would turn out better than the previous one had.

"There's an island coming up," Jaldore said, his hand shielding his eyes from the bright morning sunshine as he gazed into the distance. "Is that the one we want?"

"I'm not sure, really," Lyise replied. "I don't think so." Her brow furrowed in consternation. "I've made this trip before, of course, but it feels different coming from this direction."

"Shouldn't you go and ask the captain or someone then?" the paladin suggested. Naramira knew that this was his first sea voyage and she could tell that he was uncomfortable with the ship's rolling movement, his strides along its deck not as confident as she was used to from him.

"I don't think it's necessary. I'm sure I'll recognise it when we're closer."

"The last time I made this trip the boat only stopped once on its way to Kaladim," Naramira said. "I'm fairly sure it was this island, Lyise. So if this is not Sister Isle then we're going to have to find some other way to reach it."

The elven girl didn't reply and the three companions stared intently at the island as it drew closer. Naramira had been right and the boat did stop at the island's docks. No other passengers disembarked and no new ones boarded, however, so there was no one to enquire the island's name from. Naramira looked in expectation at Lyise, but still she said nothing. A few minutes later the crew hauled in the anchor and they were once more on their way.

The boat was far out to sea again, passing between the cliffs of two other islands when Lyise gasped. "That was it! That was Sister Isle, I recognise these cliffs. We should've gotten off there!"

"Now what are we going to do?" Naramira asked, just a little frustrated.

"Swim," Lyise said and without another word jumped over the railing.

"Lyise!" Jaldore shouted, rushing to the railing and peering into the water. For a few anxious moments he and Naramira, as well as a few other passengers, stared frantically at the waves. Then a blonde head popped out from under the water and the two friends sighed in relief. Lyise waved at them and then started swimming in the direction of Sister Isle.

"Nothing left to do but follow her," Jaldore said and he also jumped into the water.

'_This is crazy,' _Naramira thought as she, too, plummeted into the deep. A momentary panic seized her as the warm tropical waters of the Ocean of Tears immersed her completely, but then with two strong upward kicks her head surfaced and she gratefully filled her lungs with the salty air.

She looked around for her companions, but neither were anywhere in sight. All she could see were the coastline of an island in the distance and the boat sailing ever further away. Luckily, the young enchantress was a strong swimmer. Ever since she had almost drowned in the lake over which the Freeport Academy is suspended, she had made an effort to better her swimming skills whenever she had the opportunity and now, although not quite as comfortable as a fish in water, she could at least swim a fair distance without tiring. She set out towards the island.

A red gauntlet suddenly broke the surface in front of her. It reached out to the heavens for a few seconds before sinking into the deep. Naramira, coughing from the sea water she had swallowed in surprise, took a deep breath and dived down after it. She opened her eyes underwater, flinching at the unfamiliar salty sting, and looked for her companion.

Jaldore was fighting the waters with all his might, but his heavy plate armour dragged him ever deeper and deeper. Naramira grabbed hold of his hand and tried to pull him upwards, but she was not strong enough. She could see his efforts to reach the surface becoming weaker and knew that time was limited. She had to act fast.

'_Goddess, give me strength!'_ she prayed fervently, but instead of strength an idea came to her. She let go of the paladin's hand and shot up to the surface. With frantic movements she opened her satchel and looked for the pouch containing her various spell ingredients. Her fingers stumbled over the knot and she swore loudly at the delay. Finally, the pouch was open and she snatched a piece of fish scale from it. She shoved the pouch back into her satchel, hefted it on her back once more and rambled off the words to a new spell called Enduring Breath as fast as she could. As the scale dissolved into a green magical light, she dove underwater once more and released the spell at Jaldore's weakly struggling form. His eyes widened in amazement as he was surrounded by green light and realised he could breathe underwater.

Naramira resurfaced and smiled in relief. _'That was too close.'_ She continued swimming towards the island, hoping Jaldore had the sense to follow her from below. She reached the shore just as her arms began tiring and sat down on the sand to wait for her companion.

Not long after Jaldore emerged from the waves and slumped down on the beach next to her, exhausted. "That was quick thinking there, Nara," the paladin thanked her. "I should've taken the armour's weight into account before I decided to go for a swim."

"I hope you're ready for another swim," the enchantress replied, her eyes widened in fright and her voice shaking a little. "Because I don't think this is the right island."

The paladin turned to follow her gaze and gasped as he saw the lumbering shape of a giant advancing towards them over the sandy dunes. The corpulent figure was naked except for a loincloth, layers of podgy flesh quivering with every ground-trembling step it took closer to the two adventurers. A single, massive eye in the middle of the giant's forehead was roaming the beach, looking for the intruders it knew were there, but hadn't spotted yet.

"A cyclops," Jaldore breathed.

Naramira had another fish scale in her hand already and was reciting the spell under her breath. She released her magic and, as Jaldore was once again suffused in a green glow, cast Strengthen on him as well. Then she whispered urgently: "Let's get out of here."

He nodded. They ran for the water and only heard the cyclops' enraged howls when they were already far out at sea. Jaldore, his strength magically enhanced this time, managed to stay afloat and kept pace with Naramira as they swam towards another island visible on the horizon.

Lyise was waiting for them on the beach when they arrived, her foot tapping impatiently on the sand. "Where have you two been?" she asked. "I've already bought the kiola nut and the boat back to Freeport is due any minute now. We must hurry." She rushed her friends over to the dock, seemingly unaware of how exhausted they both were.

The three travellers became restless after about half an hour of waiting. Jaldore had recounted their experience to Lyise, and she in turn had told them all about her search for the kiola nut and how the shopkeeper had referred her to a merchant in Rivervale for a jar of honeyjum, and still no boat was visible in the distance.

"It's late," Naramira remarked.

"There it is!" Lyise exclaimed as she caught sight of a white sail coming into view.

"Something's not right," Jaldore said as the ship drew nearer. Its main sail was tattered and black scorch marks decorated its side. No passengers were on deck and the sailor holding the rope ready to tie the boat to the dock was trying to wave inconspicuously to the three companions. "Be ready for anything," the paladin warned as he loosened his sword in its scabbard.

The boat had hardly come to a stop when, with a sudden clamour of voices, five or six ruffians rushed onto the docks, swords swinging. Their leader, an unwashed miscreant wearing a flamboyant hat with a long feather in it, swung wildly at the paladin, only to find his stroke quickly parried and himself disarmed soon after. The man looked about him, his eyes bulging in surprise as he saw his friends standing unmoving by his side.

"Do you yield, Pirate?" Jaldore asked, the tip of his jagged-toothed sword pressing against the ruffian's throat. The man nodded and the sailor, who had watched the brief fight with a broad smile on his face, came over and tied him and his men up. The two enchantresses released their hold on their prisoners and Jaldore oversaw their imprisonment on the boat while Lyise went to free the captain and the other passengers.

When some measurement of order had been returned to the boat and the passengers had all expressed their gratitude to the three adventurers, the captain gave the order to set sail and the boat continued its journey westwards towards Freeport. Naramira watched the sky turn orange as the sun set, before rejoining her companions below deck to discuss the next stage of their journey.


	9. The Barkeeper's Quest Part 2

_Author's note: I apologise for not having written this chapter sooner. I have lost myself in a new character, whose adventures are being documented elsewhere, in EverQuest 2 for the past year or so. But I promise to try and write more often and finish this tale. If anyone is still reading, thanks for your support!_

Naramira stood before the haunted forest of Kithicor, her eyes straining to penetrate the darkness of the woods. She did not relish the idea of entering Kithicor again. But somewhere within its murky depths lay the entrance to the halfling city of Rivervale, which is where she would meet her high-elven friend, Lyise, for the next phase of their quest. Their paladin protector, Jaldore, had been recalled to duty in Freeport and so the two enchantresses had agreed to continue together without him.

Naramira watched as the sky first turned a rosy pink and then a pale blue with the coming of dawn. As the first rays of light cleared the tops of the High Pass mountains, the young enchantress gathered her courage and entered the forest.

She shivered as the gloom of Kithicor enveloped her, like a cold blanket of terror. She knew that her time was limited, that she had to find the cave that lead to the entrance of Rivervale before sunset. After that, her chances of survival were almost nonexistent.

The ominous silence was almost palpable. No twittering of birds filled the air, no rustling in the underbrush as small animals went about their lives, no sounds at all. Her own breathing sounded loud in her ears.

The young enchantress hurried along the barely perceptible footpath. She didn't stop to look at the abandoned hut, but quickened her pace as she remembered what had happened the last time her curiosity had gotten the better of her in this forest.

"Bzzz. Stonehive!"

Naramira jumped and swore under her breath as she glared at the little creature suddenly flying across her path. It had the yellow and black striped body of a bee, but was as big as Naramira's hand and had a humanoid face. Tiny crystalline wings made a dull buzzing sound as it hovered in the air in front of the young enchantress.

"Bzzz. Stonehive!" it said again, before flying straight at Naramira's face, trying to stab her with its stinger. She swatted at the dogged little creature in an effort to protect her eyes, but soon tired of its persistence. Bright colours suddenly fluxed about her, stunning her tiny attacker motionless, before a purple ring of magic mesmerised it on the spot. Ignoring the buzzing presence now trapped within a corner of her mind, Naramira set forth on the footpath again, irritated at the delay.

Her progress went slowly. The woods seemed to be filled with the annoying little creatures today and Naramira constantly had to fight them off. She soon gave up trying to mesmerise them all and hurried along the path with her dirk permanently unsheathed. It wasn't long before her satchel was heavy with the many stingers she had looted from their dead bodies.

She reached the second split in the path without further mishap, but as she stood there deciding in which direction to go, an eerie cackle broke the oppressive silence. _'Dusk is near'_, she realised, and took the right fork on instinct.

She hadn't gone far when a buzzing warned her of another one of those little creatures lying in wait. Exasperated, the young enchantress readied herself for the confrontation, but she hesitated as an orcish grunt reached her ear. Cautiously, she peered out from behind the gnarled tree that was blocking her view to see a strange sight. Lyise stood in a clearing, cheering an orc pawn on as it attacked three of the little creatures simultaneously.

"Lyise! What are you doing?" Naramira asked as she stepped into the clearing.

The elven enchantress smiled when she saw her friend and replied: "This is so much fun, Nara! Gurk here is helping me teach these stupid bixies a little lesson. They've been bothering me all day. Don't worry, I charmed him," she added quickly as she saw the alarmed expression on Naramira's face. "Gurk just loves killing bixies, so he's not even resisting my compulsion too much, are you Gurk?" She smiled benignly at the orc, who growled viciously but kept on hacking at the bixies with his rusty sword.

"Are you crazy?" Naramira almost shouted. "The sun's almost down, Lyise. There's no time for fooling around. We have to get out of this forest as soon as possible!"

"Oh Nara, relax," Lyise replied. "The cave is just over there." She gasped and dropped the hand she had been pointing. Naramira followed her gaze and felt her heart sink into her boots.

Standing at the edge of the forest, and blocking the entrance to Rivervale, was a chillingly familiar mail-clad dark-elf warrior with an evil grin on his face. Naramira winced at the metallic sound his scimitar made as he unsheathed it.

"So we meet again, human," he said in the dire voice of death. "And this time you brought a little Koada'Dal friend with you. It will avail you not." He started advancing slowly towards them.

Lyise was murmuring the words of mesmerisation, but Naramira knew it was no use. This dark-elf was more than a match for the two of them. Lyise's face paled visibly as her spell rebounded of their assailant.

"I will cut your hearts out and offer them up to Innoruuk," the elf threatened as he came ever closer. "Feed your flesh to the wolves and grind your bones into dust." Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled, as if in expectation of fresh meat.

Naramira's knees trembled and it felt like she had been rooted to the spot. She had escaped this dark-elf once before, but she did not expect the same kind of luck again. The charmed orc gave a whimper of fear next to her. _'The orc!'_

She glanced at Lyise, who nodded in understanding as the same idea came to her. Then, Naramira stepped within reach of the dark elf just as Lyise shouted: "Gurk, kill him!" Rainbow colours fluxed around Naramira. As the elf stood dazed, Lyise grabbed her wrist and they ran past him, towards the cave.

"For the mistress!" the orc bellowed, unable to resist Lyise's command. There was a short sound of steel clashing on steel, followed by a strangled gurgle as he met his fate.

The two enchantresses sprinted past the perimeter of the forest and into the cave where they collapsed into a tangled heap. The dark-elf's yells of frustration as he realised they were beyond his reach were blood-curdling and Naramira knew that he would certainly not be distracted like that for a second time if ever their paths crossed again.

When they had caught their breath, Lyise sat up and wiped a single tear from her eye. "Poor Gurk. He wasn't so bad. For an orc."

"Come on," Naramira said as she stood up. "Let's go find an inn and get some rest."

Lyise nodded and together they set out towards Rivervale.

The warmth of the early morning sun shining in through the window woke Naramira. She yawned sleepily, but got gratefully out of the tiny bed she had spent an uncomfortable night in. She stood up and bumped her head on the ceiling, forgetting that the inn hadn't been built with tall human physiques in mind.

She found Lyise in the common-room, bright and cheerful as ever. "Good morning!" the elven enchantress smiled. "Did you sleep well?"

"Not as well as you, apparently. Didn't you find our accommodation a bit cramped, Lyise?"

"Oh yes, at first, but then I shape-shifted into halfling form and everything was just perfect."

"I thought shape-shifting was just an illusion," Naramira replied, a slight frown on her face, "We don't actually change shape, it just looks like it."

"Your mind makes it real. Trust me. I spent an hour or so as a rock once, trying to hide from an orc centurion, and he picked me up and threw me at a faerie in frustration," Lyise recalled. "The faerie was convinced, in any way. That orc went running back to Crushbone, I can tell you."

"Good morning to you," a halfling waitress interrupted their conversation. "First breakfast will be served in ten minutes. Is there anything I can get you to drink so long?"

"I'd like some honeyjum please," Lyise replied immediately.

The waitress flushed beetroot red and stuttered apologetically: "I… I'm sorry, mistress Elf, but honeyjum is a halfling drink. We… uh… we don't serve it to… uh… Big Folk."

"What? Why ever not?" the elven enchantress exclaimed indignantly.

"Er… I don't know," the waitress replied, looking flustered. "I just follow the rules. Is that Cook calling me? Excuse me please." The little halfling rushed off to the kitchen with Lyise fuming at her back.

"Don't worry about it, Lyise," Naramira said. "As soon as breakfast is done, we'll find out who makes the honeyjum, change shape and go and get it."

"I know. I just never expected this kind of discrimination from halflings. And they call us haughty. Hmph."

Not long after, a different waitress served the two companions a delicious banquet of a breakfast as one would only find in the company of halflings. Course followed after course, there was bacon and eggs, toast and marmalade, fresh fruit with cream, sausages, pancakes and apple pie. Naramira sat back in her chair after the meal was finished, thinking to herself that she didn't have to eat for the next two days after all of that.

"Had enough, milady?" their new waitress asked. "Second breakfast will be served in twenty minutes, if you're still hungry."

Naramira smiled. "No, thank you, everything was delicious. Tell me, my friend and I have heard of a traditional halfling delicacy called honeyjum. Where might we be able to try some of it?"

"Kizzy Mintopp is the one to speak to. She makes the honeyjum and she's very jealous of her recipe. Won't tell anyone what goes into it. Her shop is close to the bank, but I don't know if she'll let you have any."

"Thank you," Naramira said while looking at Lyise. "We'll go and talk to her then."

Lyise grimaced in disgust at the thick layer of hair covering her feet. "How can they stand this?" she wondered out loud.

"At least your hair is blonde," Naramira replied. "Just look at the state of my feet!" She pointed to the dark brown hair standing up in tufts on her toes. "No wonder halflings never wear shoes, my feet are baking hot as it is."

"Let's go talk to Kizzy and get this over with," Lyise suggested.

The honeyjum merchant was an abrupt and rather rude little halfling who made it clear that she didn't have time for questions on her secret recipe. "No, I'm completely out of honeyjum and I'm not about to go out and gather ingredients to make some more right now. I have way too many other things on my mind at the moment," she said as she bustled about her little shop.

The pink flush to Lyise's face was enough to warn Naramira of an impending outburst from the annoyed elven enchantress. She quickly forestalled it and said: "But what if we were to collect the ingredients for you, mistress Mintopp? What is it that you need?"

"Don't for one moment think I don't know what you're planning, young lady!" Kizzy exclaimed. "I am not about to share my secret with anyone, and especially not with anyone, be they halfling or not, who is not from Rivervale!"

"I've had about enough of this!" Lyise exploded. "We have travelled from far away to this Tunare-forsaken little town out in the middle of nowhere to purchase a jar of what will probably turn out to be as unpalatable as sewage water, and you are accusing us of wanting to steal your recipe? So help me, I will show you what I think about that!" Her hands started glowing as she prepared to cast a spell.

Naramira had to act fast before the situation turned ugly. She bundled her friend out the door and told her in a firm voice to wait there while she talked some sense into Kizzy. She re-entered the shop and had to duck to avoid being hit by a flying mince pie.

"Get out of my shop!"

"Please excuse my friend, mistress Mintopp, she's had a long and arduous journey. I don't know what's come over her." Kizzy opened her mouth to reply, but Naramira quickly interrupted her, her hands weaving Alliance, a spell that makes the caster's target more amiable,behind her back. "I can assure you we are not here to steal your secret recipe. It is true that we are not from Rivervale. Our ancestors, for reasons unfathomable to me, decided in their wisdom at the time to move away from this epicentre of our civilisation to lands now inhabited by Big Folk. Day by day our exiled people have to endure ridicule and disgrace at the hands of those humans and elves. We yearn for a better life among our people, united in our common goals, wishing only to be a part of the people of Rivervale once more." She paused theatrically for a moment, the feisty little merchant hanging on her every word. "Alas, the bulk of our families are unable to make the journey back here, old and young people alike too frail and timid to survive the rigours of this dangerous expedition. All my friend and I ask of you, mistress Mintopp, is for us to purchase a jar of honeyjum each to take back to our families so they can once more remember better times among their kinsfolk."

Tears sparkling in her eyes, Kizzy Mintopp grabbed Naramira's hand and shook it vehemently. "I had no idea," she repeated over and over, genuine sympathy in her voice. "Of course I will help you. Your request is very reasonable, my dear. I would give you some honeyjum now, except that I really am out of supplies at the moment." She wrung her hands in disappointment.

"Then let us help you gather what you need," Naramira offered.

Kizzy's smile almost lighted up the dark little shop. "What a wonderful idea! Of course, that will be the easiest thing to do. All I need are three bixie honeycombs per jar. The rest of the ingredients will be easy for me to find in town. And, since I really do feel sorry for you and your family out there in the Big World, I will let you have it for only thirty gold pieces per jar."

Naramira thanked her and promised to be back soon with the honeycombs. She closed the shop door behind her to find Lyise pacing irritably outside. She quickly explained what had happened to her friend, who burst out laughing in delight and almost seemed her old self again. Arm in arm, the two enchantresses in halfling disguise headed towards the cave leading to the Misty Thicket.

"This is so frustrating," Lyise sighed as she stooped down and looted another bixie stinger. "I'm starting to feel sorry for these poor little things, Nara. I've killed dozens of them, but I can't find even one of them carrying honeycomb. If things go on like this, we're going to make them extinct."

"I don't think we have to worry about that, Lyise, they seem quite prolific. The place is crawling with them," Naramira replied. "But I do agree, it can't go on like this. Maybe we should split up to cover more ground?"

The elven enchantress agreed and Naramira soon found herself wandering deeper and deeper into the Thicket. She came across a wall running the length of the wooded enclosure, a gap where some of the stones had collapsed giving access to a darker part of the woods. She followed a trail leading from the gap to a cave in the surrounding mountainside. Two green-skinned goblins were standing guard, gazing watchfully out over the clearing in front of the cave.

Naramira shuddered. She didn't like goblins at all. She turned around and made her way back towards Rivervale. A cluster of huts not too far from the town entrance drew her attention. She knocked on one of the doors and entered as its occupant bid her to come in.

Surprisingly, the hut was occupied by a wood-elf merchant, its walls covered in shelves containing all sorts of interesting jars and artefacts. The merchant turned towards her and said: "Hello there. Haven't seen you before, have I? What can I get for you?"

"I was just wondering it you don't perhaps have some bixie honeycombs available?" the young enchantress enquired.

"You're in luck. I just received three pieces this morning. How many do you want?"

"All three please. And some information, if you don't mind. I came across a cave east from here, guarded by goblin sentries. Where does that lead to?"

The merchant wrapped the honeycombs in paper and handed them over. "That'll be three silver pieces please. Thank you. That cave leads to the Runnyeye Citadel, a dangerous place, so I've heard tell. Used to be one of the main strongholds of the goblins, but now they're slaves to the Evil Eyes. What goes on in there, I'd rather not know. But I've heard rumours that the Beholder's Maze lies on the other side of that cursed place, and there great treasures are to be had. I see many adventurers, their minds set on glory and riches, pass through here, but few have ever returned. I hope you're not interested in going there. That surely is no place for a respectable halfling."

Naramira assured the merchant that she had no such intentions. _'Yet,'_ she thought to herself. _'Beholder's Maze. Sounds interesting...'_ She thanked the wood-elf and then returned to the Rivervale gate. She found Lyise there, waiting for her.

"Did you find some?" the elven enchantress asked. Naramira nodded and told her what had happened. "I also bought mine, from a young halfling adventurer I came across. Said she'd show me where to harvest the honeycomb, but I just paid her for some she had already."

"Well, why don't you give me yours and I'll go talk to Kizzy again. I'll meet you back at the inn."

Naramira awoke the next morning, refreshed and excited. She had followed Lyise's advice and had spent the night in halfling form. She quickly got up and packed her belongings in her satchel, carefully wrapping the jar of honeyjum in a piece of cloth for fear of it spilling and getting everything sticky. Kizzy Mintopp had kept her word and had pressed the two jars into Naramira's hands with sincere best wishes for her exiled family.

She went downstairs for breakfast, wondering where Lyise was, when the innkeeper came up to her and handed her a note. She opened it to find a short letter in her friend's elegant writing.

_Nara,_

_I have just received news about an attack on Felwithe. I must go home immediately to help and make sure my family are unhurt. It is too late to wake you now, so I will ask the innkeeper to give you this note in the morning. Please continue with our quest, I will catch up with you when I can._

_Regards, Lyise._

The young enchantress wished her friend well. She did not know what it was like to have family, but she was sure that if she had received word of an attack on the Academy, she would be just as concerned and eager to return home. She just hoped Lyise had had the good sense not to try and travel through Kithicor at the dead of night.

She had a small breakfast, the halfling waitress shaking her head and enquiring after her health, before paying for her stay and setting out alone on the next stage of her journey.


	10. The Barkeeper's Quest Part 3

A chill wind came howling down the Pass and Naramira wrapped her traveller's cloak tightly about her. It seemed like it was always winter up here in the mountains. The sky was an ominous grey colour, but at least it hadn't started snowing yet. The young enchantress was suddenly glad she had decided to set out early from High Hold Keep this morning. With any luck, she'd be out of the mountains and well into the Plains of Karana before the weather worsened.

A sudden gleam caught her eye and her gaze shifted upwards. There it was again. Something bright was reflecting in the sunlight. _'An ambush,'_ Naramira realised. She knew that the High Hold Pass was overrun with malicious bands of orcs and decided not to take any chances. Her image wavered and then vanished as she prudently cast Invisibility over herself.

She continued upwards, treading softly to avoid revealing her presence. She soon realised how fortuitous that wayward beam of light had been. Crouched behind an outcropping of rock, she came upon four heavily-armed gnolls waiting in anticipation. One of them was polishing its steel helmet with a tattered piece of cloth, admiring its own reflection in the mirror-like surface. The pale sunlight was bouncing off it and Naramira quietly thanked Erollisi Marr for the warning.

Careful not to make a sound, she slipped past the gnolls and followed the Pass further. She safely passed many such groups of ambushers until she finally reached the top of the mountain trail and stood looking at the steep path leading downwards. A sheer cliff to her left and what seemed like a bottomless gorge to her right, a narrow winding path was her only way down. Naramira swallowed nervously. _'That could be a really nasty fall,'_ she thought to herself as she kicked some loose gravel down the precipice and waited in vain for any sounds of it landing on the bottom.

Her journey downwards, nervous though it was, continued without mishap. When she was almost halfway to the bottom, she came upon a huge face carved into the rock. It seemed wise beyond her knowing and somewhat sad, its gaze at once kind and tempestuous. Only years later did Naramira discover that it was in fact the image of Karana, the Rain Keeper, carved many ages ago by his nomadic worshippers during their migration from the high mountains into the plains, that had watched over her steps during that treacherous descent.

By the time she reached the bottom of the Pass, night had already fallen. Naramira was anxious to reach Qeynos, and she knew from the directions she had received at the Keep that it was still many days' travel away. _'At the bottom of the Pass you will find a road leading to the west. If you follow it, keeping to its turns and twists for many days, you will eventually find yourself at the foot of the Qeynos Hills. From there an enquiry at one of the guard towers will guide you safely to the gates of that great city,'_ was the clerk's rather vague directions. She decided not to waste any time and, after a quick supper of cold rations, set out in the dark in what she hoped was the right direction.

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The sun finally rose over an annoyed and hopelessly lost enchantress. For what seemed like the hundredth time, she cast True North upon herself. Her body twirled in a circle for a few seconds and came to a stop in a direction she knew to be due north. She turned to her left and sighed in exasperation. The fertile Plains of Karana stretched out in all directions with no sign of the road she should have been following whatsoever.

Now that the sun had come up, she could see the hazy blue outlines of the mountains behind her, reassuring her that she was indeed facing the correct way. There was nothing for it but to continue on in that direction and hope that she'd either find someone to ask the way from or stumble across the road at some point. She heaved her satchel onto her back once more and, berating herself for deciding to travel at night, trudged wearily westwards.

Perhaps a week had passed when she finally saw something strange on the horizon. She made her way eagerly towards what seemed like enormous stone spires jutting up towards the sky like claws. As she approached, she could see that the structure was man-made and that the spires were covered in symbols. Some of them were familiar, but on the whole she could not understand their message.

"The portal to Luclin will become active in ten minutes. If you wish to make the journey, please purchase a shard." Naramira jumped as a female voice intruded upon her thoughts. She turned to see a woman dressed in brilliantly white robes looking enquiringly at her.

"Excuse me?" Naramira asked politely. "Where is this… Luclin? I'm afraid I haven't heard of it before."

The woman smiled and slowly extended her arm upwards. Naramira looked up, but the sky was a clear blue with nothing in sight except for the full moon, as always, visible during the day. Then, the realisation dawned on her. "The moon?" she asked, awestruck.

"Indeed," the woman replied. "I am the Luclin Scion and these are the Karana Spires. Many adventures await those bold enough to explore the recently discovered reaches of Luclin. But, if you wish to gaze upon the many wonders of that strange realm, you must purchase a travelling shard."

'_The moon!'_ Naramira thought in wonderment. _'What an adventure that must be!'_ She declined the Scion's invitation though, saying: "There are many places in Norrath I have yet to see. The moon will have to wait."

She bid the Scion goodbye then and, following the direction the woman had advised, soon found herself to her delight on the road she had been searching for so long. She never strayed from it, setting up camp at night to ensure she didn't wander off it in the dark and casting Invisibility over herself when the way was blocked by a pride of lions or the occasional griffon soaring overhead. A fortnight or so later the plains became hills and she knew that her destination was drawing near.

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Qeynos, the westernmost stronghold of human civilisation, was a magnificent castle-city. It was situated in a verdant green meadow and its walls were covered with ivy and climbing-roses. The sky was brilliantly blue and the pennants and banners of the Bayle family on the ramparts flapped in the pleasant breeze. Naramira thought it beautiful. It was so unlike her hometown of Freeport, where the merciless sun beat down relentlessly and the dust-choked streets were filled with beggars and vermin. _'If I lived here, I would never have wanted to leave,'_ the young enchantress mused.

She entered the city unchallenged and set about exploring its neat, flower-scented streets. She visited the Order of the Silent Fist to see the monks in training, admired the great clock in the marketplace, danced a jig with a cheerful half-elf in the Wind Spirit's Song and made a courtesy call to the local enchanter's guild. But no matter how much she explored, she was unable to find anyone willing to sell her any koalindl fish.

It was while she was making enquiries at a fairly seedy tavern near the docks called the Fish's Ale that she was approached by a squint-eyed fellow wearing nondescript clothes. "Word has it, good lady, that you are looking to purchase some of the sacred fish," he whispered while looking furtively around in fear of being overheard.

"That's right," Naramira replied dubiously. She wasn't sure if the fellow was entirely respectable.

The man leaned closer, and Naramira grimaced at the odour of stale beer on his breath. He rubbed his hands nervously together and said: "Not many have the courage to harvest from the pool at the Temple of Life, for the Prime Healer himself has been known to strike down any who would do harm to the sacred fish. But I'm sure someone from the Guild could be persuaded to risk life and limb, for the right price of course."

"The Guild?" Naramira asked, her dislike for the man increasing by the minute.

"Let's just say, we operate outside the petty constrictions of the law, good lady. How would fifty platinum pieces sound to you?"

"That's outrageous! I want nothing to do with you and your illicit guild. I will obtain what I need by lawful means or not at all."

The man's face was suddenly twisted by a sneer and his hands strayed towards his belt knife. Although Naramira had thought their conversation private, the abrupt hush that fell around them clearly indicated that more people had been listening in than she had been aware of.

"Take care, stranger," she warned in a deceptively mild tone. "I am an enchantress of the fourth spell circle. You do not want to upset me." All of a sudden her body was suffused in a golden glow as she cast a Lesser Shielding on herself in preparation. The man's eyes widened and some of the other patrons were now gazing so fixedly into their beer mugs they might not have been there at all.

But before things could get ugly, the tavern door banged open, making everyone jump, and a detachment of the Qeynos guard entered. "What's going on here?" the captain demanded, immediately sensing the tension in the room. His eyes wandered over the customers and settled on Naramira, who immediately let her spell drop and answered in a steady voice: "Just a little disagreement, Captain. This man here was just leaving."

The captain smiled mirthlessly as he recognised her antagonist and waved his men forward. "Ah, so nice to see you again, Hanns. We've been searching everywhere for you. Should have known you'd be in here causing trouble, as usual. Guards, tie him up and take him to the magistrate. He has some explaining to do."

As his men escorted the rogue out, the captain turned to Naramira and said: "No good comes of doing business with the Circle of Unseen Hands, milady. Is there something you wish to tell me?"

"I wasn't doing business with him," Naramira quickly explained. "I was asking after koalindl fish and he offered his services. As you might have guessed, I declined and that's when he started making a nuisance of himself."

The captain whistled in amazement. "You have nerve, milady, I'll give you that. Now, as for your koalindl fish, there is no honest way to obtain them. Your best chance is to apply to the Temple of Life and ask them if they'd be willing to help you out. If not, I'm afraid you'll be going home empty-handed."

Naramira thanked him and promised to follow his advice. She made her way to the gates of the Temple grounds, where she could see the Temple suspended over a lake, much like the Academy back home. After making her request to one of the clerics, she was firmly turned away and asked not to return again unless she came seeking forgiveness from the Prime Healer.

'_Well,'_ she thought to herself as she made her way back to the city gates, _'if they won't give it to me willingly, I'm going to have to come up with another plan…'_

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The young paladin showed great promise. Although she was dressed in basic leather armour and had only a dull-bladed iron sword at her disposal, the resilient blonde girl was making short order of the klicnik beetles outside the city gates. Naramira remembered her own struggles with fire beetles when she had just attained Initiate status, and admired this girl's determination.

The young enchantress watched the paladin as she quickly dispatched of some poisonous snakes and was just about to go up and introduce herself when four gnolls, dog-like animals walking upright and bearing swords and clubs, attacked the girl without warning. Naramira quickly mesmerised three of them, wincing as their yapping presences filled a corner of her awareness. The paladin didn't waste time wondering what had happened, but quickly and efficiently disposed of her assailants one by one. When she had finished, she wiped her blade on the last body and turned towards Naramira.

"Thank you for you help, milady. I knew I was in trouble when I saw four of them coming at me at once."

"It's my pleasure," Naramira replied. "I was most impressed with you skills, but I thought a little help would not be unwelcome." She smiled. "My name is Naramira."

"Erowein," the girl introduced herself. "Paladin of Rodcet Nife, two seasons."

"Well met. And now I must ask for your help, Erowein." She quickly explained what she needed and how no one else had been willing to help her. When she had finished, the young paladin was frowning slightly, her blue eyes clouded in trouble.

"The koalindl fish are sacred to Rodcet Nife. It would not be right for me to help you if the clerics at the Temple have already turned you down." She fixed Naramira with a penetrating gaze: "I have met an enchanter once before… he was an unscrupulous man. I sense the same abilities in you. If I am correct, why have you not simply charmed someone to do it for you?"

"The thought never crossed my mind," Naramira admitted. "I serve Erollisi Marr, and I have taken a vow not to use my abilities for my own ends and to the detriment of others."

Erowein's face lighted up and she smiled broadly. "That is good. I knew you were not the same as that man, but I had to be sure. And since the Prime Healer and the Goddess of Love are allied, it is only right that their servants should aid one another. I will help you."

Naramira thanked her and they made arrangements to meet at the docks in an hour. She spent that time browsing the wares of a little shop called the Jewelbox. As it happened, the owner was an acquaintance of Mistress Amber's and she happily pressed a bag of malachite stones into Naramira's hand as a gift for their mutual friend.

The young enchantress then wandered down to the docks and purchased a ticket to Odus, which would be her next destination. She was just wondering if Erowein had had any misfortune, when the young paladin came walking up to her. She pressed a small, pungent package into her hands with a smile.

"I hope I haven't caused trouble for you, Erowein," Naramira said as she stowed the fish in her satchel.

"All will be well," her new friend reassured her, although Naramira noticed that she no longer carried her sword. "Where are you going next?"

"To Erudin, in search of Erud's Tonic. At least, I think that would be the right place to look for it."

"It is indeed. Ask for Sinnkin Highbrow at the City Library. She is an acquaintance of my brother's and very interested in alchemy and potion brewing. I'm sure she will be able to help you."

"How can I thank you for you help?" Naramira smiled.

"No thanks needed. Be safe and be well, Naramira." She saluted and then waved as the young enchantress boarded the ship and sailed off towards the setting sun. Then the blonde girl returned to the Temple of Life for the last time and started packing her bags.

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The boat arrived at the Erudite harbour early the following morning. Naramira disembarked and followed the other passengers to a room inside a cave where two teleport stones gave access to and from the city. She placed her hands on the cool stone and was immediately transported into the most beautiful city she had seen so far. All the buildings and fountains of Erudin were covered in shining white marble and the green lawns and gardens were immaculately tended. A peaceful atmosphere hung over the city, and Naramira could almost imagine herself hearing great minds contemplating the great mysteries of life. The dark-skinned Erudites went about their city with absentminded, yet purposeful, strides and she was courteously greeted wherever she went, although she got the distinct impression that some of them were looking down their noses at her.

She enquired at the library and was directed to the second floor where she approached a young woman deeply absorbed in a book. The woman didn't notice the young enchantress at first, and Naramira had to cough to get her attention.

"Why, hello there fellow scholar!" the woman exclaimed when she finally managed to tore her gaze from the pages. "Don't you just love books? I am quite a bookworm myself. I could read forever! I am currently working my way through the T's."

"Are you Sinnkin Highbrow?" Naramira asked. She thought a direct approach might be best for the situation.

"Ah, I see you have heard of me. Not surprising, no matter what those illiterates at the Academy might say, I am after all one of the paramount scholars of this great city. Why, just the other day I was talking to…"

"Yes, I was told to ask specifically for you," Naramira interrupted. "My friend has a very high regard for you and said you would be the only person able to help me." _'A bit of flattery never hurt.'_

The Erudite's face positively glowed. "Of course, of course, no one better. What is it I can do for you?"

"I need a vial of Erud's Tonic, please."

"Well!" the woman exclaimed. "Your friend was perfectly right, of course I can help… but I'll need something in exchange." She motioned for Naramira to come closer and the young enchantress obliged. "There are certain potions, certain elixirs, that are forbidden by the High Council, you see. Of course, a great scholar such as myself should not have to abide by such petty rules, but there you have it. I only want to study it, after all."

"What would you like me to get?" Naramira asked.

"There is a shop near the gates called BlueHawk's Food. The owner, fine upstanding citizen though he may be, have been known to stock some of these, shall we say, slightly controversial elixirs, from time to time. Of course I can't go and enquire after it, it would not do to be seen asking after Innoruuk's Kiss of Death at all. But you, a foreigner, should have no problem."

Naramira agreed to go. She located the shop and handed the owner the six pieces of silver for the tonic, then quickly made her way back to the library, trying her best not too look guilty whenever she passed a city guard.

The exchange took place surreptitiously, both women feeling it better not to be seen with the outlawed tonic. The scholar stowed the vial of black liquid on a shelf behind some books and produced a bottle of blue liquid in exchange. Naramira thanked the woman and made her way out of the library quickly.

'_Well, the quest is finally over. All I need to do now is return to that bar in East Freeport. But before I go, I think I will explore this city some more.'_

She wandered around the city streets for a while, but although Erudin was beautiful, there wasn't much going on. She asked at the palace where she might find the local enchanter's guild and was directed to the Tower of the Craft Keepers. Her entrance was met by unfriendly and suspicious stares, so she cast an illusion on herself and re-entered in Erudite form. Although the yellow-robed inhabitants were cordial, the young enchantress still felt like everyone thought everyone else to be less intelligent than themselves, and therefore beneath their notice. She exchanged her travel-worn green robe for a yellow one, doubting whether the colour really suited her, and opened a gate as soon as she had paid for her purchase.

The hot desert wind whipped her new yellow robe around her ankles as she stepped through the gate back to her hometown on the other side of the continent.

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Naramira made her way down to the docks in East Freeport. She had heard nothing from Lyise yet, no messages were left for her at the Academy, so she decided to go speak to the barkeeper herself and see what he had to offer in exchange for the various ingredients he had asked for.

The Seafarer's Roost was a disreputable inn, although the owner, Gregor Nasin was well-known as a true professional. As she entered his establishment, he was busily cleaning the countertop, which seemed to be covered with a sticky red substance.

"Hello there," Naramira greeted him. "You may remember a friend of mine, a blonde high-elf girl, from a few months ago. She said you had asked her to acquire certain ingredients for a special exotic recipe for you."

"Ah yes," Nasin replied. "I remember her. Little wisp of a girl, a bit whimsical, as I recall."

"That's right," Naramira smiled. "I have what you wanted. One kiola nut, one jar of honeyjum, one koalindl fish and one vial of Erud's tonic." She placed all the ingredients on the countertop as she ticked them off.

"Splendid!" the barkeeper exclaimed. "Absolutely marvellous! This must have taken you some time to collect. And of course, you're looking for the reward now, right?" He grinned and reached down under the countertop to produce a thick, leather-bound book. "The Barkeep's Compendium! No budding brewer could possibly do without it." He thrust the book into her hands and she staggered under its weight.

"Er… thanks," Naramira replied, somewhat let down. _'What am I going to do with this?'_ she wondered, not having any inclination towards becoming a brewer any time soon.

"Not exactly what you'd expected, huh?" Nasim said shrewdly. "Well, in truth this book used to belong to someone else. Let's just say, he misplaced it and I've been keeping it safe for him. I'm sure he would reward you handsomely for returning it to him."

"Alright," Naramira agreed. "Where can I find the man?"

"Well, he's not exactly what you would call a man – he's an ogre." Naramira gasped. "His name is Clurg and you will find him in his quaint little tavern in Ogguk. Good luck."

The young enchantress thanked the barkeeper and, somewhat in a daze, walked out of the inn. _'An ogre in Ogguk! What have I gotten myself into now..?'_


	11. The Ogre's Reward

_Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who has been following and commenting on the story. I appreciate your remarks – they keep me motivated to continue writing it. In answer to MysticAngel's question – yes, she is still only fourth circle, i.e. about level 12ish. The events depicted in the story are somewhat embellished upon, but they are all true and did happen to her. Please keep reading and let me know what you think _

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The sun beat relentlessly down on the young enchantress making her way through the Desert of Ro. Naramira looked up at the scorching sky and prayed for what seemed like the hundredth time for some shade or somewhere to rest. The hot sand burned her feet right through her boots, and her water supply was beginning to get disturbingly low for such a long way still ahead of her. If she had known the journey would be so arduous, she would have brought supplies for four more people.

The hot air in front of her wavered, her vision blurred with heat. In the distance she could see the shimmering forms of palm trees swaying in a slight breeze. She had seen such mirages before, the heat and her thirst conspiring together to trick her mind into believing relief was at hand, but she would not get her hopes up again this time. What was more, the ground had suddenly started to shake, a regular beat making the sand tremble beneath her feet.

She rubbed her sand-stung eyes, trying to focus and when she looked up again a monstrously large head was protruding from the dune ahead of her. _"I'm imagining things again,"_ she thought, suddenly concerned for her sanity. But then the head grew a neck, and then the shoulders were visible and soon she could see its chest and she knew what was heading towards her was not an illusion but a real flesh and blood sand giant!

A momentary panic overtook her, but she kept her head and quickly cast an invisibility over herself, fortunate enough to remain unnoticed by the enormous creature coming her way. She watched in awestruck horror as its whole body became visible. The ground was now lurching so much that she had to lie down to keep from falling down, her eyes widening in alarm as a foot longer than her entire body stepped not a meter away from her.

Only when the giant had disappeared behind the next dune and the ground had stopped trembling she finally got up, dusted herself off and continued on her way. It was with great relief when she discovered that the mirage she had seen earlier was real too, and she hurried towards its promised reprieve from the blistering sun.

A cool breeze wafted through the oasis, instantly cooling her down. There was a small lake in which she washed off the dirt and sweat from her travels and filled her water bottle again. She sat down on the shore, took her boots off and dipped her feet into the refreshingly cold water. A suspicious-looking log drifted not far away, which Naramira suspected might be a crocodile, but she kept an eye on it and was ready to make a run for it if it came any closer. In the distance she could see an island in the centre of the lake and wondered if that would be a good place to spend the night. When she felt rested enough, she put her boots back on and made her way to an abandoned rowing boat pulled up out of the water and onto the sand. Unfortunately, the boat had a gaping hole in its bottom, so she regrettably gave up the idea of going to the island.

She turned round and bumped into someone before she realised she had company. "Excuse me," she apologised, wrinkling her nose in disgust at an unpleasant odour emanating from the figure. She looked up at the person's face and recoiled in horror as she saw rotting flesh and rancid bandages wrapped around its limbs. The creature opened its mouth to reveal decaying teeth and uttered a wordless moan. With slow, but forceful movements, it lunged towards her, grabbing at her face as if longing to devour the life within her.

Naramira reacted with lightning reflexes. Rainbow colours filled the air, stunning her undead assailant and giving her time to root it to the spot. She quickly moved out of reach and said the words that would drain the creature's unnatural strength. As the colours faded, the zombie still managed to pull its legs free from the entangling roots and once more shambled mindlessly towards the young enchantress.

She was preparing to cast Choke, when instinct warned her to turn around. She glanced behind her to see the gaping maw of a crocodile inches away from her leg. With a yelp she jumped out of its way, surrounding herself with brilliant colours once more. She had to act fast. A purple ring of magic encircled the zombie and, as its awareness was suddenly wedged firmly into a corner of her mind, she turned her attention to the crocodile.

It felt like an epic struggle. The animal's hide was tough enough to repel most of her spells and she was reluctant to come within reach of its jaws, so her dirk was practically useless. In the end perseverance won out over brute force as she managed to root the crocodile and watched it choke to death, its limited mind incapable of overcoming her magical suggestion.

A low moan drew her attention back to the zombie. The impression in her mind was of an all-consuming hunger. It suddenly overcame her spell and its consciousness wrenched itself free, leaving her reeling with shock. She recovered just in time to ward off its advance with her dirk, ripping a long gash in its bandaged arm. No blood flowed from the wound and the creature came at her relentlessly, as if it felt no pain. A bright red glow enveloped the zombie as the young enchantress attacked its mind with chaos. She could see the creature's dull eyes rolling wildly as mental images assailed it. It began convulsing spasmodically and bits of rotting flesh fell to the ground as the body decayed rapidly in front of her eyes. Naramira averted her gaze, fighting down the bile rising in her throat, as the walking cadaver fell to pieces and lay unmoving on the sand.

Naramira did not linger by what was left of its corpse. The sky was turning orange and the intense heat of the day was already dissipating. She wanted to be somewhere safe, wrapped up warmly in her blanket when night fell, bringing with it the freezing cold of the desert and the undead creatures that walked in it at night.

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Many days passed and Naramira had almost given up hope of ever escaping from the desert when one day the dry heat turned into an uncomfortably clammy heat. She knew then that her destination was drawing nearer. A few days later the sand gave way to rugged green terrain and soon after she found the southern pass through the great mountain range that led to the Innothule Swamp.

Although she only skirted around the edge of the marshes, keeping close to the mountainside, the putrid stench of decomposing vegetation was enough to make her wish her short passage through the swamp would go by quicker. She spent one sleepless night listening to the croaking of frogs while swatting countless mosquitoes and other annoying insects away. The following afternoon she reached the jungles of the Feerrott and set up camp at the edge of its perimeter for the rest of the evening while she considered the journey lying ahead.

She remembered the only conversation she had ever had with an ogre: _"Can you tell me how to get to Oggok, please?" "Boomba not speak to human. Boomba catch human and sell pickled body parts in glass jar. Human want some nice pickled body parts? Boomba sell cheap." "Er…no… thanks. I need to know how to get to Oggok. Can Boomba tell me the way?" "Human buy pickled body parts. Then Boomba tell human how to get to ogre city."_ As vague as his directions had been, they had managed to get her this far. _"But I don't know how I'm going to explain that jar of pickled elven parts to Lyise if she ever sees it."_

She had also managed to scrape bits of information from various travellers she had met along the way. Few had ever travelled to these parts, but those that have all said the same: ogres did not like visitors. Sentries made regular patrols of the area surrounding the town gates and killed any travellers they came across without thinking twice. They feared dark-elves, however, and allowed them free passage to their city. The young enchantress suspected that her best option would be to take the form of a Teir'Dal and bluff her way past the sentries and into town._ "Of course, it would be better if I could take ogre form, but that's going to be a bit difficult. I don't think I could concentrate on what one looks like long enough to pull this off."_ She just hoped she could manage the cruel and haughty disposition dark-elves were infamous for when the time came.

Naramira woke early the next morning, nervous but excited at what the day might have in store for her. After she had packed up her meagre belongings, she took a deep breath and changed shape. She watched in fascination as her skin slowly turned a rich indigo colour and her hair became as white as snow. When she entered the darkness under the dense jungle foliage, she was also amazed to find that she could see quite clearly in the gloom.

There was a narrow trail winding through the jungle. It was still uncomfortably humid, even as early in the morning as it was, and it seemed that the swamp's whole mosquito population had followed her here. She could hear strange animal sounds in the distance and she soon became edgy the deeper into the jungle she progressed. At one point she was almost startled out of her wits when a lizard-like creature, waist-high, walking upright and carrying a short spear, scurried across the path. _"That must have been one of the Tae Ew lizard-people I've heard about,"_ she realised when she had gotten her breath back.

She was still thinking about the strange creature when she pushed her way through the undergrowth and found herself standing unexpectedly in front of the city gates with two ogre guards levelling their spears at her. She shuddered as she took in their appearance: towering head and shoulders over her, with beady eyes and cruel-looking fangs, skulls dangling from strings around their necks. She gulped, but managed to keep her voice steady. "How dare you threaten me! Let me pass."

"What business does dark-elf have in ogre city?" one of the guards asked.

"My business is my own. Now let me past lest I call the powers of the Prince of Hate down on you!" she threatened, praying silently to Erollisi Marr for forgiveness.

Shaking visibly, the two guards immediately withdrew their spears and backed away from the young enchantress. She strode arrogantly past them and into the city. _"No wonder dark-elves are feared all over Norrath,"_ she mused. _"They can get away with anything in Innoruuk's name."_

Walking down a grassy incline, Naramira wondered where the inhabitants of Oggok were. The city seemed deserted. A deathly quiet hung in the air. She followed the road until it entered a cave in the mountainside and then realised that the city was in fact comprised of a series of tunnels and caves in which the ogres lived. When one of them stuck his head out of a doorway and yelped and slammed the door shut at the sight of her, she came to the conclusion that it was because there was a dark-elf in the city that everyone stayed behind locked doors. _"Well, that makes this deception much easier for me."_

Unfortunately, there was no one to ask directions from. She wandered around the tunnels for quite a while before the sound of boisterous laughter suggested that she might find the tavern nearby. A sign on a doorway read "Meet and Drink Tew Buy" and she opened the door to be met with sudden silence. A room full of ogre men were staring hostilely at her, but luckily none of them had had enough to drink yet to make them brave enough to confront her.

"I'm looking for Clurg," she said to the room in general. No one replied, but one brave soul managed to point towards a door presumably leading to a back room. Naramira nodded in acknowledgment and entered without knocking.

A stout ogre wearing an apron looked up from the beer barrel he was busy opening. His eyes looked somewhat more intelligent than those of other ogres she had met so far. He looked intently at her before he asked: "Dark-elf come to be main course at Clurg's dinner party?"

Naramira was taken aback. This one didn't seem to be afraid of her. "I've brought you something," she answered coolly, taking the Barkeep's Compendium out of her satchel. "Something I was told you might pay handsomely for."

Clurg's eyes widened and his face split in two with a big toothy smile. "Dark-elf bring Clurg's book back. Dark-elf kill human who stole Clurg's book?" His hands stretched out longingly towards the heavy tome.

"The book is yours," Naramira replied, handing it over with a smile. She couldn't help but feel gratified to see the joy on the ogre's face.

"Clurg not care how dark-elf got book. Clurg is happy to have book of wonderful recipes back. Clurg will reward dark-elf with wondrous treasure." He reverently put the book down on a nearby bench, reached deep into the back of a cupboard and pulled a white beer mug out. He spat on it and polished it with his sleeve, before offering it to her.

"You call that wondrous treasure?" Naramira asked, greatly disappointed.

"Stein of Moggok _is_ wondrous treasure!" the ogre insisted.

Naramira took the mug from him and at once felt a wave of power rush over her. The room seemed to brighten in the magical glow emanating from the stein and the young enchantress felt invigorated and enlightened just by holding the mysterious artefact. It was indeed a wondrous treasure.

"This will do," she said, her voice filled with awe.

Clurg beamed at her and without any further ado, opened his long-lost book and, finger tracing the lines, began reading intently. Naramira reluctantly stowed the stein in her satchel and left the ogre to his reading. _"My hand already feels empty without it,"_ she thought as its power left her.

She entered the common-room to find the tavern's patrons clustered around a burly ogre wearing a feathery headdress. _"A shaman!"_ The ogre took one look at her and bellowed: "Deceiver!" He rushed at her with a ceremonial spear aimed at her heart.

As rainbow colours filled the room, Naramira quickly opened a gate and, before any of the ogres had recovered, she was standing before the West Gate. As the gate closed behind her, she had just enough time to see the startled expression of the ogre shaman as the hot desert wind blew sand in his face. She smiled and patted her satchel, satisfied with the outcome of her quest. She dropped her illusion and made her way towards the Academy.


	12. Rivals

Naramira wondered if she had gotten the directions Jaldore had given her wrong. The paladin had promised to meet her at the inn in the West Commons nearly two weeks ago, but he had still not arrived nor sent any messages ahead to inform her that he had been delayed. She hoped nothing untoward had befallen her friend.

And now, from her vantage point behind a rocky outcropping, she was once again unsure whether he really meant to attack this particular encampment. At first she had been shocked to learn that it was not an orc camp or another undead-infested area, but rather the base of a group of human settlers. She had been studying its inhabitants for many days now and had seen nothing to indicate that anything out of the ordinary was happening here. Surely the paladin did not mean any harm to innocent people?

She decided to go back to the inn to see if her friend had arrived yet. If he had not, she would wait only one more day before returning to Freeport to see if she could find out what had happened to him. She was not quite sure where to start searching for him, but perhaps the Knights of Truth would be able to give her some indication of his whereabouts.

The young enchantress was still mentally going over all the dangerous places the paladin might have been sent to as she entered the inn. She stopped short as she saw a familiar broad-shouldered figure in red Crustacean plate armour with a jagged-toothed sword strapped at his waist. The paladin had his back towards her and was deep in conversation with the innkeeper, a rotund little man who had the habit of nervously wringing his hands together and avoiding eye-contact.

"Dark brown hair hanging just below the shoulders, green robe, about this tall," Jaldore said, indicating shoulder-height. "Smiles a lot." The innkeeper's gaze was distant as he tried to picture any of his visitors that might fit the description. Jaldore tried once more: "Eyes that look like they can see into the depths of your soul…"

Naramira was taken aback by this statement but to her amazement the innkeeper nodded thoughtfully and finally replied: "Yes, I think I know who you mean. I've not seen her wearing a green robe, but those eyes…"

Naramira cleared her throat and the two men spun about to face her. The innkeeper's cheeks turned red in embarrassment and he excused himself with an inaudible mumble. She turned to her long-overdue friend and it was as if his smile brightened up the dingy common-room.

"Nara," he said, unashamedly looking her over. "You look well. New robe?"

"Yes, I bought it on my trip to Odus. Not sure I like yellow, though. Makes me feel like an oversized banana," the young enchantress grimaced, self-consciously straightening the offending garment.

"I preferred the green robe too," Jaldore admitted.

"Yes, well," Naramira said, blushing under his scrutiny. "Anyway, you're late," she accused, poking the paladin in the chest. "I was beginning to get worried."

"I'm sorry. I got a little … sidetracked."

Naramira's attention was diverted by a busty woman a head taller than the paladin coming up to them and putting an arm around her friend's shoulders. The blue woad of her clan twirled in curious patterns on her face and her red hair shone like fire. A short spear was strapped at her side and Naramira caught a faint whiff of pungent herbs emanating from the woman's leather waist-pouch.

"This must be the little enchantress you've been telling me about," the woman drawled, her thick Northern accent sounding strange to Naramira's ears. "She's shorter than I thought she'd be."

"Naramira, meet Belcea," Jaldore introduced the two. "She's travelled all the way from Halas to come and see what a desert looks like. That's why we were a little delayed, we had to make a slight detour to Ro."

"It is very warm on this side of the world," Belcea said. "I don't know how you can live like this."

"We manage," Naramira replied, confused by the sudden surge of dislike she quickly tried to repress. She stared at the unlikely couple, not quite sure how to respond to this unexpected development. She couldn't have been more surprised than if her friend had decided to forsake Mithaniel Marr and had converted to the devilish worship of Innoruuk.

Jaldore must have noticed her discomfort, because he extracted himself from the woman's grasp and, with an embarrassed cough, quickly changed the subject. "Have you had a chance to scout out our next target?"

"Yes, but I don't see what these people have done to deserve an attack."

"Our sources have identified their camp as the base of a local group of bandits," the paladin replied, suddenly all business. "Their activities used to be fairly low-key in the past, they only robbed an occasional traveller and generally only took what they needed to survive. But they've become more organised recently and have been attacking merchants travelling between Qeynos and Freeport. The Coalition of Tradesfolk have asked the Knights to put an end to this."

"But still…" Naramira frowned doubtfully.

"I'm to apprehend their leader, Nara, not kill them," he explained quietly. "But if you want out, I'll understand. You know I won't force you to do anything you're not comfortable with."

Naramira glanced at Belcea, who had sat down at a table and was busy carving her name into the wood. "Are you going to be a part of this?" she asked.

The woman shrugged. "In Halas, we hang bandits from their feet overnight. If they survive, we drench them in gravy and give them an hour's head start."

"Gravy?"

Jaldore grimaced. "Wolves."

Naramira shuddered. '_No wonder they're called barbarians.'_ "Okay, I'll go," she said, absentmindedly wondering if gravy would stain a yellow robe into a more acceptable colour.

000000000000000000000000

The camp was a bustle of activity. The small group of adventurers, concealed behind the rocky outcropping, watched as a party of bandits were trying to open a large wooden crate. They'd been struggling for a while now, but so far the lid hadn't budged.

"Why don't they just use an axe on it?" Jaldore wondered aloud, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What do you think is in there?" Naramira asked.

"Weapons, I would imagine," the paladin replied. "See the emblem on the side there? That's the insignia of Groflah's Forger in North Freeport. They must have robbed another merchant."

"Then the real question is, what are they planning to do with it?"

Belcea unstrapped the short spear at her side. "Enough talking. We'd better do what we're here to do before they have access to the contents of that box." As she lifted her head towards the sky, an image of a roaring bear suddenly blurred over the paladin, who smiled grimly as his blood started pounding in exhilaration.

"Wait!" Naramira warned as Jaldore unsheathed his jagged-toothed sword. She pointed at a group of men making their way towards the camp, rusty swords and spears held ready for battle. Without warning, they fell upon the men still struggling to open the crate and soon the grass was stained red with blood. A cry of alarm went up in the camp, but it was too late. Before anyone could rush to their aid, the ambushers had killed the men and had hacked the lid of the crate to pieces. Within minutes the attackers had armed themselves with shining new maces, swords and halberds and fell to slaughtering the rest of the camp.

Naramira turned away from the carnage. She'd seen her fair share of battles, but this was humans killing humans, and for no apparent reason other than greed. It disgusted her. Jaldore's face was grim and even Belcea looked a little nauseated.

"We have to stop them," the young enchantress said.

"The whole camp will turn against us," the paladin replied. "We'd be hopelessly outnumbered, even with your talents. They might be enemies now, but they'll band together against us in the wink of an eye."

"It is too late now, anyway," Belcea said. "Most of these souls are already travelling to the halls of their ancestors."

Naramira turned to see that the battle was over. The attackers had left no survivors and were busy piling the bodies up under the direction of a blood-spattered man in iron-studded leather armour. He walked towards the mound of deceased and kicked one of the dead men in the stomach. His men laughed as their leader urinated on the corpse.

"That's enough," Jaldore said, stepping out from their hiding place and striding towards the men while Naramira and Belcea frantically cast spells of protection and enhancement over him. The bandits cried out in alarm as they noticed the paladin bearing down on them, his brows furrowed in anger and his jagged-toothed sword held menacingly out in front of him. A wave of sympathy for these men flashed through Naramira's mind and was quickly suppressed as she mesmerised as many as she could while Belcea called roots from the earth to entangle others.

The bandits stood no chance against the paladin and his companions. Those who managed to escape Naramira's enchantment fought in vain as Jaldore blocked and parried their clumsy attacks skilfully, the few slashes that did manage to penetrate his defences healing at Belcea's behest to their astonishment. It was not long before those who were still able to lift their weapons threw them at the paladin's feet in defeat.

Naramira jumped in surprise at the sound of someone sarcastically clapping hands behind her. The three adventurers turned to see the leader of a small contingent of soldiers grinning sardonically as he inspected their handiwork. His polished armour and proud bearing proclaimed him a Knight of Truth, but his handsome features were marred by an arrogant cast to his eyes. Naramira instinctively disliked the man.

"Well done," he mocked, walking towards their prisoners. "I see you managed to dispatch this handful of untrained miscreants fairly easily. Did you happen to leave their leader alive for questioning?" he jeered.

"What are you doing here, Alrick?" Jaldore asked between gritted teeth.

"I was tasked with bringing in the bandit leader. Little did I know you would do all the hard work for me. I'll be sure to mention it in my report."

She saw Jaldore's fists clench as his rival ordered the soldiers to round up the survivors. "This was my mission. You have no right..."

"Relax, old boy," Alrick interrupted. "You have bigger things to worry about." He reached into his belt-pouch and retrieved a letter from it which he thrust into the other paladin's hands. "Don't expect me to play mailman for you again." He strutted off to rejoin his men.

Jaldore unfolded the piece of paper, cursing under his breath as he realised the seal had been tampered with, and paled visibly as he quickly read through its contents. "What's wrong?" Naramira asked, concerned.

The paladin looked up into her eyes, his jaw set firmly. "My father is dead."

Naramira gasped. "Jald, I'm so sorry..."

"And I have a brother." It took a few minutes for the realisation to dawn on him. "I have a brother who lives in Qeynos."

"Then you should go to him," Belcea said. "We will go to the inn to collect our things and set out first thing in the morning. I had not planned to return home so soon, but..."

"I think it would be best if I go alone," Jaldore said, his eyes still on the young enchantress instead of the red-haired shaman. "Nara, you've been to Qeynos, you can give me directions." She nodded and the three of them silently made their way back to the inn, each lost in his own thoughts.


	13. An Unlikely Ally

Naramira grimaced as she rolled the zombie's corpse onto its back, careful not to let any of the gory bits touch her new green silken robe. It had cost quite a few platinum pieces and, although it was perhaps a little indecently tight across the hips and bodice, she loved every inch of it. She finally thought she might look just a little bit like one of those great coercers from Master Jusathorn's tales. And now that she had also attained the fifth spell circle, she felt every inch the grand enchantress too. But even though she now looked and felt the part, she wondered if anyone from those tales ever had to rifle through a zombie's pockets while the hot desert wind blew sand down their cleavage. _'Oh well, even enchanters have to make a living somehow,'_ she thought as she pocketed twenty silver pieces.

She wiped the sweat from her brow and looked up at the sun beating relentlessly down upon the Oasis of Marr. Her gaze wandered to where the moon was also visible in the clear blue sky. _'Luclin, as it's called these days,'_ she mused. _'And somewhere up there Jaldore and Lyise are keeping the new settlements safe from bandits in a place called Paludal.'_ She frowned at the unfamiliar word. The thought of adventuring on the moon was very strange to her. She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must be like.

An undead cackle was all warning she had before she fell to the ground with a cry of pain that turned into a wheezing gasp for breath, the dry bones skeleton's rusty shiv still embedded in her back where it had punctured one of her lungs. Jabober sprang to life at her side, the animated daggers ardently trying to protect their mistress who could feel herself slowly dying, her life's blood seeping into the sand as if trying to quench its insatiable thirst.

The skeleton clattered to the ground in a pile of bones, but Naramira hardly noticed. Her vision was starting to blur and the world was spinning around her. Through the nausea, she could make out an indistinct figure silhouetted against the sun. She knew the desert heat could cause hallucinations, so she was doubly surprised to hear the figure reciting words in an unfamiliar language. The pain as the shiv was wrenched from her body made her black out and she knew no more.

ooooooooooooooooooooo

Naramira awoke feeling a little groggy, but otherwise remarkably healthy. She sat up and realised she was still lying in the sand where she had fallen, Jabober hovering protectively over her. A glance at the sky confirmed that the sun was still pretty much in the same place, so she couldn't have been unconscious for too long. There was no one else in sight, however.

'_Could I have imagined it?'_ she wondered. Then she noticed the pile of bones lying at her feet. She jumped up and started looking for tracks in the sand. _'If I hurry, perhaps I can find whoever had healed me and thank him.'_ She had no idea who had saved her, but for some reason she had a vague sense of purple when she tried to remember what he had looked like. _'Probably a touch too much sun…'_

Although there were no footprints in the sand, her search didn't take very long. Just as she was about to climb up the second sand dune she heard a scuffle and an inhuman screeching. Calves aching from exertion, she rushed to the top of the dune and stumbled headlong into the fight.

A figure in purple plate armour was surrounded by five or six gigantic dune spiders, the venom from their fangs sizzling as it dropped on the hot desert sand. Even though the man was putting up a good fight, his iron morning-star whistling as he kept the arachnids at bay, Naramira knew it was only a matter of time before one of them managed to penetrate his defences. She could hear the man invoking his power in a strange archaic language, but his spells did not seem to have much visible effect on his attackers.

The enchantress took a deep breath, then started mesmerising the spiders one by one. Soon her mind was filled with their cries and she had to concentrate to keep from losing focus. As purple rings of magic surrounded each arachnid under her control, the man shifted his target and, like a seasoned fighter, concentrated on killing the spiders as she freed them. It wasn't long before the last one fell to the ground, its dying shriek cut short as the spiked club crushed its skull.

"I didn't need your help, woman," the man said as he bent down and wiped his morning-star clean.

Naramira blinked in surprise. Not quite the response she had expected. She was about to retort when surprise snatched the words from her mouth. The man had taken off his gauntlets and she watched with growing horror as he removed his helmet and wiped the sweat from his brow. His straight black hair fell down to his waist, but what was most disturbing was his dark indigo skin and the purple eyes that watched her appalled expression with growing humour.

"But I'll admit I knew you would come in handy when I healed you."

Naramira could feel the blood draining from her face. "Who… who do you worship?" she stammered, dreading the answer she knew was coming.

The dark-elf smiled viciously, enjoying her discomfort. "I serve the Prince of Hate. His power flows through my veins."

Her knees buckling beneath her, it was almost all the enchantress could do to keep her composure. She had been healed by the power of Innoruuk! Her head spinning with revulsion, she cast a shield upon herself and reached for her dirk.

The dark-elf immediately raised his morning-star, his eyes suddenly wary. "You have nothing to fear from me, human," he said through clenched teeth. "If I wanted you dead I would have left you to die by the hands of that skeleton."

"Perhaps," Naramira replied. "But now that I know what you are, how can I possibly let you live?" A red glow emanated from her hands as she prepared to assail his mind with a Sanity Warp.

"Wait!" her enemy shouted, his eyes widening in fear just as she realised the earth was trembling beneath her feet. A huge shadow loomed over her, blocking the blistering sun's heat. She risked turning her back to the dark-elf and gaped in awe at the sand giant facing her.

"Cazel smash!" it bellowed as it lifted its foot.

"Run!" the dark-elf shouted. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of reach just as the giant's enormous foot stomped down where she had stood not seconds before.

With the sounds of the sand giant's frustrated roar ringing in their ears, the two unlikely allies ran across the dunes. Naramira's thoughts were in a turmoil. Twice the dark-elf had saved her life now. She didn't know what to make of him. He was undoubtedly evil, he worshipped Innoruuk, for Marr's sake, and yet he was unlike anything she had ever heard or experienced of his race before. As a follower of the Goddess of Love, she was honour bound to rid Norrath of his evil kind, but somehow, she wasn't quite sure if this particular dark-elf deserved it. It was a puzzle that she didn't have the answer to as yet.

A cluster of tents was visible in the distance. The dark-elf beckoned to her and said: "Come, let's see if we can impose upon their hospitality for a drink of water." They were no longer running, the sand giant a long-forgotten speck in the distance, but were wearily trudging ahead, keeping a respectable distance from each other, eyes warily watching for any suspicious movement.

The enchantress followed willingly. She was hot, she was tired and dusty and she wanted nothing more than to sit down and quench her thirst. Perhaps these people would even be so kind as to offer some shade as well.

With these pleasant thoughts now foremost in her mind, it came as a shock when they were met with drawn swords and sombre expressions as they staggered into the camp. Naramira grudgingly put her hands in the air, a quick headcount confirming that the two adventurers were outnumbered by the grim group of men and women surrounding them.

A leather-faced woman armed with a notched scimitar came forward and took the dirk from its sheath on Naramira's belt. She looked significantly at the animated daggers floating by the enchantress' side, but Naramira only shrugged innocently and the woman decided to ignore them. She tied the enchantress' hands behind her back and Naramira winced as the rope bit into her flesh. She heard the dark-elf protest as he received similar treatment from a man with a wicked-looking scar across his left eye.

"We only wanted some water," he explained as he was shoved roughly to the ground.

"A likely story," a burly man said as he pushed his way to the centre of the ring of warriors. He strode arrogantly towards the two captives and, without a moment's hesitation, viciously kicked the dark-elf in his side. "Who sent you?" he demanded roughly.

Naramira eyed their captors. They were a mismatched group of people – humans, half-elves, and even a small ogre was glaring at them from the back. Their weapons showed signs of regular use and their leather armour was patched and well-worn. Most of them had scars and here and there an eye or a tooth was missing. This was a group of fighters, but they were not an organised contingent from Freeport, since neither the Militia nor the Truth banners were flying in their camp.

"Bandits," Naramira said out loud as the realisation suddenly dawned on her.

The man turned towards her and struck her across the face. "What do you know?" he shouted.

Jabober sprang to life at her side. With a ferocity born from its fervent desire to protect its mistress, the two daggers attacked her assailant, hacking and slashing with magical precision at the man's face and arms. All hell broke loose as the rest of the bandits came to their leader's defence.

"Human," the dark-elf said urgently. Naramira turned to see him shaking a knife out from inside one of his greaves. In the confusion, no one noticed her rushing to his side. She dropped to her knees, and with her hands still tied behind her back, awkwardly picked up the knife and started slashing through his bonds. Seconds later the dark-elf was free and he grabbed the knife from her and severed her bindings as well.

A cry went up as someone detected what they were doing. Naramira wasted no time and mesmerised the bandits one by one. In the corner of her eye she saw the dark-elf punching the scarred man that had tied him up previously, sending the bandit sprawling to the sand. He grabbed his iron morning-star and started calling bolts of lightning from the sky as he hacked at the next man to come at him.

While mesmerising as many as she could, the fight was tinged in green and red as her foes choked on her magic or ran around madly, eyes bulging insanely. She cast Ebbing Strength on a man sneaking up behind the dark-elf and grinned as he let his heavy iron mace fall to the sand, its weight suddenly too much to bear. Noticing the lightning bolts coming less frequently, she cast a gentle breeze that regenerated her ally, the dark-elf smiling grimly at her while beating off another opponent.

And then the ogre was suddenly in front of her. He stabbed at her with his short spear and Naramira looked down to see blood soaking into her new green robe as the ogre wrenched his weapon from her stomach. Almost immediately the ghostly image of a sinister skull appeared above the ogre's head and the creature's eyes went mad with fear. He turned around and ran, dropping the spear in his haste to get away. A wave of healing power spilled over the enchantress, who gasped as she felt her internal organs knit back together. She smiled gratefully at the dark-elf, trying her best to ignore the fact that it was with Innoruuk's blessing that she was still alive.

And then the battle was over. The sands were littered with bodies and the few survivors were all under her control. Naramira saw the leather-faced woman standing frozen at the edge of the clearing, a ring of purple magic keeping her mesmerised. She snatched her dirk back from the woman's grasp and winced at her captive's sudden surge of fear in the corner of her mind.

"Don't worry," the enchantress said. "I won't harm you."

"Why not?" the dark-elf replied, coming up to her. He was splattered with blood, but seemed otherwise unharmed. "After all, she would kill you in a heartbeat if you were to let down your guard now."

Naramira nodded. "True. But the battle is over now and they have lost. There's been enough killing for one day."

"Then what do you want to do with them if you're not planning on killing them?" the dark-elf asked, clearly a little disappointed.

"I will open a gate to Freeport and alert the Militia. Don't worry, they will get what they deserve."

The dark-elf nodded. "Then here we part our ways, human."

Naramira hesitated as he opened his own gate, the blue lights of what must be the city of Neriak twinkling in the darkness of an ancient wood visible through the magical portal. "My name is Naramira," she said just before he stepped through. "Thank you for saving my life."

As the gate closed behind him, she heard him reply: "Azic. We will meet again..."


	14. The Gypsy's Idol

_Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to __Minthis, who motivated me to continue writing __ Sorry it took so long, but better late than never, as they say._

Naramira grimaced in disgust as the dead crocodile fell to the ground. "I think it's your turn to skin it." Her purple-plated companion nodded and pulled a cruel-looking dagger from its hiding place in one of his greaves. "How many do you have, Azic? I've got about a full stack. That should be enough to get a good deal from the gypsies, don't you think?"

The dark-elf adeptly removed the crocodile hide from the carcass and added it to the stash in his satchel. "About the same. It should do, although I would have liked to have gotten a chance at old Lockjaw again." As he stood up from the sand, he inadvertently touched his side, as if the near-fatal injury he had received from the ancient crocodile was still causing him pain.

Naramira shuddered inwardly. Only a great deal of luck had helped them survive that attack. She still had shivers running down her spine whenever she saw a dark shadow in the shallow waters off the coast of the Ro desert, knowing that the nearly legendary beast still lurked somewhere beneath the waves. In her mind's eye, the image of Azic lying in the sand bleeding with the monster hunched over him still haunted her. In that second she didn't care that he was a dark-elf and a cleric of Innoruuk, she only saw her friend about to die.

"Nara, look!" Azic interrupted her reverie. Her gaze followed his and she saw a pillar of smoke rising into the air. It was coming from the gypsy encampment near the Oasis of Marr.

"We'd better go see if they need our help," she said. Her companion nodded grimly and they set off hurriedly in the direction of the Oasis.

0000000

The gypsy camp was a shambles. Wagons were overturned, possessions were scattered about, children were crying and the wounded were lying where they had fallen. After a pointed look from the enchantress, Azic prudently closed the visor on his helmet and grudgingly set about healing those in need, muttering invocations to his god in an inaudible whisper. Naramira wondered what she could do to help. She crossed over to where she could see the group's leader, a sun-browned woman who normally carried an air of confidence about her, sitting staring out over the dunes with a vacant look in her eyes.

"What happened here?" the enchantress asked. When she received no response, she touched the woman on the shoulder and, seeing her eyes come back into focus, repeated her question.

"A band of marauding orcs attacked us," the gypsy replied. "They caught us completely unawares. You have to help me!" She jumped up and would have run off if Naramira hadn't caught hold of her arm.

"We will help you," the enchantress said firmly. "Calm down and tell me what's wrong." She beckoned to Azic to have a look at the nasty cut running down the woman's face.

"Did they take anything of value?" the healer asked as the wound closed magically and left a pale white scar on the gypsy's bronzed skin.

"Yes!" the woman shouted. Then, with a visible effort, she forced herself to calm down, and continued: "Let me start from the beginning." She took a deep breath. "We were about to perform the water divination ceremony when they fell upon us with no warning. Usually they try to steal food or our stores of water, but this time they went right for the idol."

"Idol?"

"An image of the great Rainkeeper, passed down from mother to daughter in our clan. We use it to invoke Karana to guide us towards fresh water. Perhaps the orcs thought they could do the same with it."

"Are you saying they can't?" Naramira asked.

"No," the gypsy answered. "The idol would be useless in the hands of someone not dedicated to the worship of Karana. And even if the orcs had converted, only my hands and those of my daughter have been imbued with the gift of its use." The look of despair returned to the woman's eyes.

"And where is your daughter?" Azic asked quietly.

"Gone. They took her with them."

0000000

Naramira sat down gratefully beneath the shade of a palm tree, took one of her boots off and emptied the sand out of it. She took a swig from her water bottle and offered it to Azic. The dark-elf was peering intently at the sand, pacing a few steps forward, then returning to the start and heading in another direction for a few steps. Finally he gave up and came to sit next to her, a frustrated frown on his face.

"They definitely came this way, but as soon as their tracks cross the orc highway I lose them. It's impossible to follow anyone in that jumble of prints."

"Difficult, yes. Impossible, no," a gruff voice said unexpectedly from behind them. The two companions jumped up and spun around to see a burly human warrior and a half-elf with his bow pointed at Azic's heart facing them. "We managed to find you, didn't we?"

"What do you want from us?" Naramira asked. Their assailants were almost as mismatched a pair as she and her dark-elf friend were. The warrior was dressed in rough leather, an iron battle-axe in one hand and a studded shield strapped to his back. His hair was matted and his face lined with scars. The enchantress grimaced as she caught a whiff of old sweat and fish breath emanating from him. His companion, on the other hand, was meticulously groomed. Garments of green cloth, more practical than rich, were well-fitted, his shoulder-length brown hair gleamed in the sun and the sword sheathed at his side looked costly. Although his aim never wavered and his focus was still set with deadly intent, she thought she saw a spark of humour in his brown eyes.

"Oh, the usual," the human replied. "For you to put life and limb on the line while we walk away with the spoils."

"We appreciate your honesty," Azic replied dryly. "What makes you think we'll help you?"

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way, your choice. The easy way is for you to cooperate, slaughter everything in sight and acquire the prize. Then we kill you in turn and go our merry way. Or if you prefer the hard way, we can kill you now and do all the work ourselves. Either way, we win and you lose."

Naramira tensed as Azic's fists clenched and black sparks started shooting towards him. She quickly cast a shield over herself. _"This could get ugly!"_

"Relax, dark-elf," the half-elf said quietly. He shifted his aim to point at the enchantress. "Or the woman dies."

"Do you think I care?" Azic laughed derisively. A bolt of lightning fell from the sky, blocked just in time by the warrior's shield. The half-elf loosed his arrow. Naramira ducked and swore as it sped past her, her magical shield sizzling at the close contact. She stuck her hand into her satchel and pulled out a sparkling stein. An aura of power immediately enveloped her.

"Enough!" she shouted. She slammed her will against all three and saw them staggering under the blow. "You!" she pointed at the half-elf. "Put your bow down, I don't appreciate being shot at. You!" she turned her grimace on the warrior. "You will help us free the gypsy girl and get back the idol. The only way to do that is to work together. We'll do this _my_way." Azic sniggered at the surprise on their attackers' faces. She snapped at him: "And you! Calm down for a second and help me reason with these people. We'll talk about this later."

Three suitably chastened men stared at her. She returned the stein to her satchel, smoothed down her robe and took a calming breath. "Here's what we're going to do."

0000000

"What are they doing?" Naramira whispered.

The four reluctant companions were hidden behind a large outcropping of rock, spying on a group of battle-scarred orcs. The half-elf's tracking skills had not been overestimated by his fragrant friend and he had led them effortlessly across the orc highway, straight to where the marauding clan was now encamped. The kidnapped gypsy girl was tied to a totem pole, her eyes wide with fright, the idol of Karana by her feet. The orcs were all sitting in a circle around their hostage, ominously quiet with the exception of four shamans who were working themselves into a blood frenzy by slashing their own arms and legs and spattering the blood alternatingly across the young woman and the idol.

"I've seen this ritual before," Azic replied. "It's a corruption of an ancient invocation to Rallos Zek and it's never ended well for the hostage. My guess is they're trying to transfer her powers to them. And judging by the state those shamans are in, we don't have much time."

"Let's do this, then," the warrior said, unstrapping his axe. "While their attention is focussed on the ritual."

Naramira quickly imbued her companions with extra strength and speed, feeling her heart starting to race as her stamina was magically enhanced. An unusual itching sensation made her look at her arms and she gasped as she saw it take on a brownish cast. She touched her skin tentatively, it was cool and hard as wood. The half-elf was grinning at her. "A little extra protection for the lady." An instant later his own skin was covered in thistly spikes.

What followed was a blur of action. The warrior rushed at the orcs, his axe swinging in wide arcs, two of the creatures falling dead at his feet before they had even noticed they were under attack. Azic joined the fray, hacking at the startled orcs with his morning star, bolts of lightning falling from the sky at his behest. While the enchantress focussed on mesmerising the four shamans, the ranger standing by her side picked off any other orcs careless enough to come within range of his deadly aim.

The shamans howled inside that corner of Naramira's mind where she kept their wills captive. The battle inside her head was almost as violent as the one raging around her, her hostages straining against her compulsion with all their might. One of them ripped free and, before she had time to enchant him again, struck her with a force that sent her flying backwards. She shook her head, dazed by the fall, and realised she had lost her control over the other three shamans as well. As she stumbled back onto her feet, roots twisted up from the ground and she found herself tied to the spot. Three of the shamans charged towards her, while the last one was advancing on the gypsy girl.

Naramira struggled against her bonds, the roots were twisted around her legs and arms and she couldn't reach her dirk to cut herself loose. Lightning hit one of the advancing orcs and its corpse fell to the ground a smoking, charred husk. The other two were almost upon her, their fangs bared and their sacrificial knives at the ready. The enchantress hit the closest orc with a Sanity Warp. It fell to the ground in terror, clawing at its eyes. One more orc to go, but the enchantress was out of time. Bright rainbow colours fluxed around her in a last desperate attempt.

She heard the half-elf swearing loudly and the ringing of steel as he unsheathed the sword hanging from his side. As the colours ebbed, Naramira had time to turn her head before warm blood spattered across her. She looked back to see the ranger standing across the body of the dead shaman, his jagged-toothed blade dripping red. _"Where did he get that sword?"_

"Nara!" Azic's call drew her attention back to the battle. The gypsy girl had been cut loose and the cleric was bent over her comatose body, his hands bathed in a golden light. The remains of dead orcs were scattered around the totem pole, among them the mauled corpse of the last shaman, but the warrior still had his hands full trying to keep the rest of the marauders at bay. Naramira quickly mesmerised his assailants while the ranger waded into the back of the group with his fearsome-looking sword.

When the last orc fell, she ran towards her friend. "How is she?"

Azic grinned. "Alive and well." He helped the girl to her feet and watched in bemusement as she rushed towards the blood-spattered warrior and fell into his arms. "And quite smitten with her rescuer, it seems." Three faces smiled at the warrior, whose bewilderment was only matched by the tenderness with which he put his arms protectively around the young woman.

0000000

Naramira wasn't paying much attention to the water divination ceremony. Her gaze kept wandering to the young woman they had rescued and Naramira couldn't help but smile at the adoration with which the girl was looking at the warrior. The man had undergone an incredible transformation since their return to the gypsy camp. He had bathed and shaved and found some clean clothes, and although he was still scarred from many battles, he looked more rugged than unkempt now. _"But the biggest change is hardly his physical appearance,"_ the enchantress mused. The warrior's face lighted up as the gypsy girl finished her part of the ritual and went to stand by his side. _"He looks… content."_ She could hardly believe he was the same man that had so callously talked about acquiring the prize at the cost of their lives. His admiration for the young woman was clearly as genuine as her idolisation of him.

While Naramira was still pondering the unexpected turn of events, the ranger came to stand by her side. "You're her, aren't you?" he asked. He smiled at her confusion. "You're the enchantress I've heard so much about."

Naramira searched his face for any hints. And then the answer dawned on her. "That's Jaldore's sword. You're his brother?" She laughed in surprise as he nodded.

"My name is Silvanus," he finally introduced himself.

"This is hardly the way I pictured we would meet someday," Naramira admitted. She studied his face for any resemblance to her paladin friend. "You have the same eyes, but other than that you don't look anything alike. How did you know it was me?"

"Jaldore has told me much about you, and it seems like none of it was exaggerated." She blushed at his appreciative gaze. Then his smile turned to a frown. "But he never mentioned your dark-elf companion."

Naramira shrugged. "It's a recent development, Jaldore doesn't know of our friendship yet. I don't know how to explain it. I have trouble understanding it myself sometimes. But Azic is a good person, even if he doesn't know it yet."

"Are you sure?" Silvanus asked doubtfully, eyeing the cleric who was standing off to one side, fascinated by the ritual being performed by the gypsies. "He didn't seem too worried when I threatened your life."

"I trust him," was all she replied. She smiled at her friend as he looked their way, as if he had overheard their conversation. His expression was unreadable, that purple-eyed gaze as unnerving as ever. For the hundredth time she wondered what had prompted him to save her life that day, he had never been forthcoming about his reasons. She shrugged again, pushing her worries aside. _"I trust him."_


End file.
